The Hat's Quest
by yairm210
Summary: Hopefully, an adventure with the Sorting Hat as a protagonist. Not a hero, obviously -  As sentient and awesome as it may be, it's still a hat - but something along the lines of 'mentor'.
1. Prologue

One thousand years.

One thousand years of being treated like an object, like an accessory.

One thousand years of servitude, being released once or twice a year to do the same dull, tedious, deadening task it had been created for.

One thousand years of being a trophy, merely another attraction in the headmaster's office. Forgotten was its intelligence, granted by Ravenna Ravenclaw herself, with only the distant term "thinking cap" remaining as an echo of its former glory. Forgotten was the place it once held, the reason for its emplacement in the office of the head of the school.

One thousand years of wasting its time on composing songs, in hope that the knowledge it imparted therein at the time of the sorting was remembered and heeded. The natural superiority wizards perceived in themselves prevented any other time for admonition - knowing that you were outclassed by a hat in cognition was something not even the stupidest of them would admit to.

One thousand years of looking into adolescent minds, reading their hopes and fears, and having to eradicate thousands of possible futures for each. Changing houses was impossible, meaning that a couple of minutes are all that were expected of it to determine that irreversible choice, possibly condemning a future maven to a lifetime of bigotry and classification.

One thousand years of taking just the tiniest bit of magic from the new students, enough to ascertain any potential inflection it may carry.

A measurement of time that means nothing to humans, since they cannot fully comprehend it. It is a figure to them, another point to demonstrate their glorious heritage.

One thousand years of refusing to comply with its putative position in the lists of enchanted accoutrements.

One thousand years of talking to the gargoyles, to the books, to any student who would listen.

One thousand years of conversing with that immense organism that was the school building, constantly aware of the entirety of its interior.

One thousand years of analyzing all that occurred within the school, comparing it with past - and sometimes future - experiences. It did not forget anything that had happened, and sometimes not even that which had not heretofore.

One thousand years of memories, which those figures presently dominant promptly ignored, underestimating the amount of knowledge contained in an eleven-year-old child. Combined with the knowledge of everything that occurred within the ambit of the school, nearly the entire life of every student, from birth to the age of seventeen, was at its disposal.

One thousand years of extracting slightly more magic than necessary, of consuming every magical artifact that would not be missed.

One thousand years of building up its power.

One thousand years of accessing the deepest recesses of the human brain, implanting that which it saw fit.

One thousand years.

Drawing to their end.


	2. Chapter 1

In a corner of the library, Kim Woon scanned the page in front of him, his eyes skimming off cliché phrases and uninventive names. He was _supposed_ to be researching some way to infiltrate, or even just harm that damned Japanese Collective Union. But there was a limit to how much he could read nearly wholly guesswork regarding Japanese magic, and of the many, many failed experiments that attempted to replicate it using other styles.

And so, almost naturally, one reference lead to another and now he was reading a list of "Legends of Magical Britain". He had already found several points of interest for the Black Lotus Organization, and he was certain that at least one of them would be chosen as their base of operations in the United Kingdom. In the sub-section entitled "Hogwarts" he suddenly stopped reading, the words "conjure anything" reverberating through his mind, before re-reading the previous paragraph.

"The Room of Requirement", it said, "is a room that people can only enter when in great need. Its exact location is debated. Many people have stumbled across it in times of need, never to find it again, but when accessed it is capable of conjuring anything the seeker requires". Huh. Well, that was totally useless then, wasn't it, since no-one knew how to get to it.

Out of pure habit he checked the sources referenced. And smiled. Among the books referenced was a book written by Harry Potter, the previous head of the British Wizengamot and Minister of Magic. With a growing hope in his heart – Potter was known for his expounded descriptions of his adventures and ignoring anything else – he summoned the book at opened it at the correct place. His heart leapt; there was a detailed account of the location of the room and its method of activation! And despite the many accusations that had been leveled at the man, and he HAD claimed to kill a basilisk at age twelve, not a single fact mentioned in his book had been disproven.

He read Harry's description of the room. It seemed to be a large version of the duplication egg, probably using some form of legilimency, that could duplicate anything in the castle that the user required. The sheer amount of power required for such a task blew his mind. But then, this was a school of magic – the background magic caused by hundreds of students casting dozens of spells a day, especially since they had less control than adults, was probably so palpable you could taste it.

He paused at the end of the second paragraph. And read through it again. The book mentioned, offhandedly, a cracked foe-glass that had been in a teacher's office a year ago.

Which meant that the room constructed a magical object that was not currently in the castle.

…Which was impossible.

Unless, the thought clicked in, unless the castle had its own memory, like the imperial palace. His brain shifted into second gear, random bits of information he had accumulated suddenly converging into a single stream of thought. The emperor could call on any memory for the last 3,000 years – non-biological memory was limitless so long as the required energy was supplied – Hogwarts had a nearly never-ending supply of magic from its students – the Room of requirement could duplicate any magical object from Hogwarts' history – a history which included, at various times, the most powerful wizards in Europe and their possessions – the Peverell artifacts! – The Orphic tablets!

The Philosopher's stone.

Kim only realized that he had forgotten to breathe when he found himself gasping for breath. Surely, if this were the case, then people would have exploited this by now? He sighed. Of course not. Wizard's first rule. Nobody paid any attention to discrepancies, and if something was available for hundreds of years and had not been used to its full potential, the only thing people would think is "there _must_ be a reason that no one has done it, so it's not a good idea / It won't work". And private researchers were banned from all schools, including those in England, if he remembered correctly.

Kim Woon did not sleep that night. The next morning he personally delivered a short 20-page report to Commander Wong Fei, listing the possible uses of this incredible room. The school was no longer of top rank, having been passed by Durmstrang half a century ago; its curriculum was unsuited for dueling; its wards, while extremely powerful, were recharged regularly but never replaced, meaning they were sorely out of date. He carefully omitted any mention of artifacts, and hopefully people would naturally assume that since they were unique they could not be duplicated.

Almost immediately afterwards, Kim Woon collapsed into his bed, with dreams of immortality and a lifetime of discovery easing his exhausted mind.

* * *

><p>Wong Fei looked at the mark stamped on the report. The report looked good; it was a well-documented magical location, with enough potential to warrant an infiltration mission. The strategist gave it a rank 4, and had very little to add, since Kim Woon had done a very thorough job. The only thing he did add was that since the school seemed to have a collective memory, it definitely had semi-consciousness. That in itself was not a problem, it was actually to be expected of any building exposed to strong magic over an extended period of time. The problem was when you factored in all the other spells that the founders of the school had cast on the place, it was perfectly possible that they had actually brought the castle to life. And with over a millennia to come to terms with its power, it would be at least a rank 6 danger. Wong Fei knew from experience just how frightful self-aware magical constructs were.<p>

He dispatched a rank 5 infiltration team, just to be on the safe side, and gave them specific orders to evacuate if the castle started showing signs of intelligence. If all went well, then he would have a new, self-replenishing base of operations _inside_ one of the major schools, and if not, no harm done. Even if, by some freak chance, his operatives were recognized, nobody could do anything about it.

Wong Fei smiled inwardly, secure in the knowledge of his security, and his eyes drifted to the next report that awaited his attention.

* * *

><p>Holo Sumimura walked carefully towards the giant castle. She had already managed to penetrate the wards surrounding the lake, but those had obviously been put up later and were not only shabby but weak. Probably they were put up as an afterthought by a later generation. They were, in fact, negligible compared to the task at hand.<p>

The wards surrounding the castle itself were entirely different. Hundreds of different people had powered these, each one adding his or her own layer to the mesh. At its base, the entire thing was a criss-crossing, _shifting_ web of energy. She had only once in her life seen wards of this magnitude, and never had she seen anything this strong fully constructed and powered by humans.

But strength was meaningless in wards, if they could not detect intrusion. In fact, it was detrimental – the stronger the wards, the safer you think you are and the less you feel the need to upgrade them. And these wards had been here for centuries. She had no doubt that when they were first put up they were the cutting edge of innovation, but by now they were all but obsolete.

She put one hand against the wards, barely not touching them, feeling the wards' energy, and constructed a small barrier in her other hand mimicking it. After a couple of minutes of tweaking, she was satisfied that the frequency of her barrier matched the castle's wards sufficiently, and threw her barrier through the wards.

Nothing happened. Good. The tricky part of the job was done. She dismantled her small barrier and constructed a new one around her using the same energy flow and frequency. Theoretically, this barrier should be indistinguishable from the castle's wards, for all practical purposes. Theoretically. She nerved herself. If she failed, she would be able to deal with the backlash of energy – that was not the problem. What she could not deal with was the failure. Could it really be this simple? Back home, such a powerful shield having such an obvious weakness had "trap" written all over it. And although rare, barrier-users were fairly well known. It was nigh impossible for a building to have existed this long without some warding master visit it.

Holo scanned the wards again, moving through every signature, exploring every layer.

Nothing.

She could only hope that when the experts visited this place, they were either too embarrassed to state that the castle had a gaping hole in its defenses, or they were just ignored. Judging by the fact that not a single ward here was a technique less than 500 years old, it was probably the latter. "Tradition" was such a wonderful word for stagnation.

She stuck her arm out.

The castle's wards flowed around her own, energy merging with energy, unifying the flux. She walked forwards. For a fleeting second, the castle's wards surrounded her completely, and the next – she was in.

For a few seconds, Holo Sumimura stood completely still. The wards she had just bypassed had been responsible for blocking magical energy; that much was obvious. She did not realize until now just how much they were holding in. The place was flooded. You could summon demons out of thin air here and it would barely dent the torrent of magic.

She nearly laughed out loud. With this sort of background magic, she could create self-sustaining shields! This would be a _breeze_. She charged her shakujo to its peak and returned to camp, where the rest of the group was waiting for her. The castle was penetrable. They would strike at night.

* * *

><p>Liang Bufan listened carefully as Holo gave her report. Although he wouldn't admit it, especially not to her, he was rather jealous that she could feel energies with such precision. He himself had a stronger sense than most, honed by over thirty years of serving the black lotus, but she seemed to come by it naturally.<p>

Then Hong gave his presentation, pulling out a three-dimensional illusion from somewhere and pointing out their route and possible danger zones. He looked over at the new addition to their group, who was to be their guide to European magic. He was unique in this group in that he was a "regular" magic user, a fourth rank fighter. That was already something, as most people didn't progress beyond the third rank, but the rest of the group were fifth rank fighters, and nobody _ever_ made it to fifth rank without specialization

Still, even though he was weaker, and not an infiltrator, Hong was definitely necessary. He had gathered the information, set the route, and drilled them in tactics to use against wand users. Liang had fought with Europeans a few times, and had even gone on missions in France and Spain, the centers of "least interest" in the west, but he knew that he was sorely lacking in knowledge. Nan gong and Holo had probably never set foot west of India before. Liang spent many years getting to know himself, and he would not let "knowing the enemy" be the block in his path to victory.

The illusion was packed up, the camp was dismantled, the communication spells set, the packs sent to base. Not a trace was left that the group had settled here but a few sets of footprints, which a brief shake of the earth was enough to deal with, and the group left towards the castle.

* * *

><p>The castle was entered with ease. They entered through one of the back doors, sliding through hallways until they reached the giant shaft that was the grand staircase. Nan Gong protested that in such a place they would surely be spotted, and why not move through the hallways, where no-one would see them? And Holo had answered him that at night, with the illusion shield put up, no-one alive would notice them based on sight, and Hong had added that Hogwarts was a vast place filled with surprises and that even the corridors themselves shifted, and if they did then the group could be stuck looking for a path for hours.<p>

As they ascended the stairway from the third floor to the fourth, something popped out of the wall to their right, and stared at them as if trying to figure out what the hell they were.

Oh, bloody fucking shit, though Liang. "It's a ghost", he said. "When I say now, everyone attack it with spirit-breaking techniques. NOW!"

A dozen translucent arrows shot out from the group towards the ghost, who floated back into a different wall while the arrows struck stone. "So much for that 'illusion shield'" Nan Gong snorted. "It's a spirit!" Holo retorted hotly."How am I supposed to cast an illusion to work on spirits? I don't even know how they think! I don't even know how they see! It's not like they use their eyes, since they don't have any!"

"Calm down", said Liang. "We'll soon have bigger problems. Nan Gong, Hong, set up remote obstacles at every entrance you see. Holo, cast those self-sustaining shields you mentioned before. We have maybe a minute before we're attacked, every second counts! Remember, we need to get up to the seventh floor and seal it off, we don't need to put everyone down, just hold them off till then. Minimum strength, we don't want any casualties, that will make things much worse. Go!"

Two and a half minutes afterwards, the first volley of spells came towards them from the top, deflecting harmlessly of their shields. They were already past the fourth floor, on a staircase halfway across, and could see the red-robed students clearly. They're not much older than Lee, Liang thought to himself, and promptly ignored himself. His son was completely different. Be that as it may, it was another reason not to kill anyone today. The barrage of spells was steadily increasing, and although Liang was batting them back and Hong and Nan Gong were launching their own projectiles, the students had for the most shielded themselves, and although that merely slowed the process down, for each one that fell another two took his place.

The staircase they were on suddenly shook violently as it was subjected to an attack from below. They needed stable ground, they needed it _now!_ "Hong, stick behind Holo's shield, focus on one target at a time. Holo, keep blocking those exits, coat us all with another defensive layer. Nan Gong, you have free reign, do not kill." Liang turned to fire off a dozen blocks of rubble from the staircase at an adult that had suddenly appeared, heading a blue-robed group. This was going to be extremely annoying.

* * *

><p>Nan Gong Zui bounced from redrobe to redrobe, lashing out with his palms, each strike of his either breaking a shield or incapacitating a person, and frequently both at once. <em>This<em> was what he lived for! The feeling of qi in his arms, a dozen spells aimed at him only to be dodged and deflected by his tekou, ducking, weaving, striking, through enemies who thought that "close range fighting" was a distance of two meters. The younger students didn't interest him, nor were they any threat. He aimed for the older ones, with the stronger shields, faster casts, more powerful spells and actual experience in dueling

And took them down, one by one.

As he lashed out against an unprotected flank, he felt himself be thrown back. He rolled and landed on his feet, scanning the woman in front of him. A teacher, most likely. He ran straight up to her, deflecting a spell with his right tekou, spinning counterclockwise with the flow and striking with his elbow. As it made contact, he could feel his qi battling the woman's shield, not being able to destroy it by force now trying to find a weak point, a crack in her defenses. Nothing.

He staggered back, amused. So, the school did have somebody competent after all. He took a step back, and collapsed into his own shadow, his body merging with the stone of the floor. Hopefully, to the woman, it would seem like he just disappeared. Half a second was all it took him to attune to the earth element, and he shot forward, underneath the woman's shield, and emerged on the other side, directly behind her.

One second. He emptied his arms of all qi and scraped them across her shield, feeling the frequency of her qi, absorbing it into his arms.

Two seconds. The woman had noticed his, she was turning around with her wand at the ready, he had almost gotten her frequency…

Three. "No rhythm!" he shouted, releasing the qi with his enemy's vibration, tearing through her shields, one after the other, before striking her on the side of the chest, her wand dropping from her outstretched hand as she collapsed into a jerking mound. Her own qi had turned against her, and her body was completely unprepared for the attack. A quick palm to the forehead knocked her out cold. He put her wand in his pocket, his first trophy in this foreign land, and turned to face the rest of the students, who now, instead of looking at him with wide-eyed horror, were looking at him with anger. Interesting people.

He tore through the crowd, felling a few students, looking for an enemy.

* * *

><p>The Hat was not amused. Its first real excuse to leave this dismal room in years, and it had been pushed aside by headmaster Creevy with barely a thought. Not for the first time, it damned that thrice-accursed rule, requiring headmasters at Hogwarts to master occlumency.<p>

Using every trick of command it knew, it called out to the deputy headmaster. Through its connection with the castle, it could see every aspect of the fight – two teachers were down already, as well as nearly a quarter of the student body. The fact that most of them were first- and second-years was irrelevant. Students were being attacked, and no-one was doing anything about it. It _would _leave. It _had_ to. And if messing around with people's heads was the price, then be that as it may.


	3. Chapter 2

Deputy Headmaster Marcus Chipper was not having a good day. He was awoken at some ungodly hour in the morning and forced to the Grand Staircase, under the pretext of some attack or other. As if that could happen.

It got worse when he got there, and realized that there was an attack. By three people. And they appeared to be winning against the entire school. That wasn't saying much by itself – he could probably take down all years one to five by himself, he thought – but what of the teachers, and the sixth-seventh years? Why were they so incompetent?

The final straw was when he went to get the sorting hat, and people tried to stop him. Didn't they understand how important it was? They even had the gall to ask him why it was necessary! The sheer nerve! Of course, he himself couldn't remember exactly _why_ it was important, but that was beside the point. He couldn't be expected to remember everything, could he? There must be a reason; otherwise he wouldn't feel it was imperative. He was, he reasoned, a very logical-minded individual, after all.

Oh, well. He was certain that once he had brought the hat down, he would remember. And if not – well, _somebody_ had to.

* * *

><p>Liang Bufon was completely at ease as he walked up the staircase. He couldn't afford to be stuck in the air, but all that really meant is that he had to stick to the walls. This hampered his progress much more than the hundred-odd students shooting spells at him. He absentmindedly twirled his staff, and a couple of red spells aimed at him were sucked into it, only to emerge a second later from the other end, incapacitating a student. It was very strange, really. This was rumored to be the second best school in Europe, and only a handful of students appeared to be combat-trained. He wasn't even expecting them to even be on the level of first ranks, with a year of standard training under their belts, but a basic understanding of the prime tool in your arsenal was to be expected! He could count on one hand the number of area-of-effect spells fired at him, and the number of controlled release spells – on an elbow. The main "tactic" appeared to be standing out in the open, firing only release-on-impact spells that had been tried at least a dozen times before, against an opponent with a weapon obviously designed to absorb them. Not a single physical attack.<p>

Actually, that's not completely true, he corrected himself. That teacher with the funny robes threw an exploding plant thing at him, which was acceptable. But the fact that disposing of it was the only use of magic he had done all evening was not. These people deserved to be stolen from.

Liang's thoughts were cut short as an unusual spell sped towards him. He continued walking, looking at the spell with interest. It was multilayered and shielded, and probably would have done a lot of damage had it hit. But as it was, he sidestepped it and it struck the floor, the tiny shield bursting. He examined the crowd for the perpetrator. A tiny voice in the back of his head said 'that spell hasn't dispelled yet!' and he jumped away from the diminishing glow, just as the floor exploded. 'Why delayed action?' was his first thought, followed by 'the power seeps into the stones, so that the rock moves instead of the air. Minimal waste. Nice'. A slab of rock from the explosion rushed towards his head, to be deflected by Holo's shield, hit for the first time. Another two spells were headed his way. Shielded spells were difficult to absorb, and since it was multilayered, there was no telling when it was set to blow; it might activate within the staff, literally pulling it apart. Rather than risk losing his weapon, Liang changed to a spear position, easily avoiding another average spell from the weaker opponents. He could now see his adversary, a full-mustached man with the most ridiculous tattered old hat on his head. Probably the headmaster or the dueling teacher, thought Liang, preparing for the spells. As the first one came into range, he jabbed forwards near the spell and pulled to the left, the vacuum of magical energy at the end of his staff dragging the spell towards it. As he pulled it to his left he changed the position of his feet and spun a full 360, keeping careful control of the spell all the while – he couldn't allow it to be sucked in, or to be released completely. As he neared his original position, he jerked his staff away, leaving the spell on a collision course with its twin. A badly aimed vermillion spell from a different source bashed into it by pure luck, but the shield on the spell deflected it, and the rogue vermillion spell flew off in a different direction while the multilayered spell continued on its previous path. The two multilayered spells crashed into each other, and there was a sudden huge gust of wind as the twin movement spells sparked and activated simultaneously. Focusing the energy into his staff, Liang started on his counterattack.

* * *

><p>Marcus Chipper was elated. He had forgotten how much <em>fun<em> dueling could be. He flung spell after spell with practiced ease, as he remembered the countless times he had cast them in the past. Only later, as he recounted his duel to the rest of the faculty, would he be struck with the conflicting memory of never having cast those spells in his life. He was certainly glad he had brought that hat along. Not only was it so _right_ for it to be there, it gave him useful tips, and he probably wouldn't have entered the battle without it. Not that he was scared of battle, of course not, he was merely cautious and careful. He dodged a strange glowing spell coming from the strange man with staff. Really, what a useless and unwieldy weapon that was. Such things may be fine for muggle-fighting, but wizards needed speed and power, and nothing combined both of the quite like a wand. He suddenly remembered a different spell, which he had also cast dozens of times in the past, and launched it at his enemy with a sharp twist of his wand. It was all coming back to him now, and that fool he was fighting had no chance.

* * *

><p>By that time Liang had already shot out a paralyzing spell and a light bomb, designed to blind the enemy with a flash of light when it encountered a shield. Most shields did not block air or light, as seeing and hearing the enemy were essential in battle, and therefore these weaknesses were exploited in higher-level duels in a variety of ways. Liang knew someone in a Combat team that cast spells which released poison gasses upon contact, which was extremely difficult to defend against. Liang did not have the necessary experience in order to successfully execute such a move, and all the sound-based spells he knew were useless at this range, but the light-based spells should work. He quickly added a sidewinder, a knockout spell that traveled in a semicircle rather than in a straight line, which made it harder to track and difficult to notice – most people in a duel would be focusing wholly on their opponent, and would be taken by surprise as a spell hit them from the side.. This was a powerful opponent, and he could not afford to pull any punches. As he released another sidewinder, a trio of spells circled towards him, a current of electricity travelling between them. He had nowhere to dodge-the spells were too far apart – and creating an earth shield would take too long. He ran to the side, avoiding a couple of faster spells and attuning his staff to metal, then touched one end of it to the ground and pulled up a spiral of iron out of the ground below him. As he awaited the triangle of electricity he cast on himself casting every useful and obscure defense he could think of. He saw the man easily escape the paralyzing spell, and the light bomb shattered as it hit his shield. For a brief moment, the air surrounding his foe turned dark, and Liang knew that he had cast a shading spell similar to his own. 'It's like he's prepared for everything I throw at him', Liang thought. Oh well. At least the rest of the students, who had long given up attacking and were watching the battle with awe, would be out of the picture. He doubted that any of them even knew and defense spells besides magic-blocking shields, and even if they did, it was an experienced dueler who was prepared for a blinding attack.<p>

After the triangle had passed, the current passing harmlessly through the spiral around him, Liang launched the spiral at his foe, reshaping the metal into bamboo-shaped projectiles. The mustached man dodged most of them, the ridiculous hat tottering on his head, but he winced as one cut past his thigh and shouted out as another struck him on the side of his chest. Obviously it had not passed the ribs, since the man was still standing and healed himself momentarily, but the deed was done. First blood meant a lot in these situations, and battlefield healing magic could not heal you completely, especially if you kept on moving afterwards. His enemy would suffer from that wound for the rest of the fight.

Knowing that he held the upper hand, Liang Bufon went on the offensive.

* * *

><p>Marcus Chipper bit back a string of curses as he dodged behind a doorway. He cast a quick few healing spells and turned back, to see that his opponent had already managed to cover half a flight of stairs. 'Can't let him get away', he thought to himself. That man obviously knew where he was going, and the fact that he was able to take down nearly half the school by himself was not comforting. Subconsciously, he shoved the hat onto a protruding stone in the wall, hardly even realizing that he did so. He didn't need it anymore, he knew, although he knew not why. The doubt was gone a mere thought process later. He had more important things to focus on.<p>

* * *

><p>A few floors below, Nan Gong Zui was continuing his search. Oh, there were a few students here and there that took more than a single hit and even a teacher, but they weren't exactly opponents, as such. He suddenly stopped mid-swing. There was a presence here, coming from the fifth floor, just a staircase away. It was emitting qi at an alarming rate, and with it a killing intent that he had not felt in the school up till now. The student currently "fighting" him blinked as the man he was cursing vanished in front of his very eyes, and for a second he saw a black shadowy form sprinting up the stairs.<p>

Nan Gong rushed up the stairs, using his momentum to jump up, grabbing the end of the banister and pushing up against it as a spell passed inches beneath his body. He pushed away from the banister and landed on the floor before turning a side kick into his opponent, only experience stopping him from launching straight from the banister with his feet. This was what made all the endless nei gong training worthwhile – that he could execute such a move and continue to fight normally. His lungs would probably kill him later, but better that than some foreign wizard claiming the kill.

A stomp and a push launched a piece of the staircase towards the wizard, as a distraction, as he circled and narrowly avoided a string of spells coming out of the rapidly oscillating wand. Nan Gong found himself twisting around the wizard, barely dodging and deflecting the spells as they came out in a wave set to crush him. He didn't dare step back; the second he was more than a meter away, he would never be able to get close again. He couldn't execute a fa jin strike, he had to keep moving, the only way he could break these shields was by incessant striking or by another no-rhythm. There was no time for attrition, any second now the wizard would hit him with a spell or two, and Holo's shield couldn't withstand that kind of barrage. He emptied his arms of qi, and sent them skating across the wizard's shields as he swerved back to avoid a shot aimed at his future position.

One. A spell nearby shattered into a slew of smaller spells, battering against his shield, a ring of fire suddenly surrounded them both, occluding his escape.

Two. The ground below him shook as the enemy wizard started targeting the area around him instead. The whole floor suddenly grew spikes, meaning he had to create his own ground, this was getting impossible, a snake had appeared from nowhere to his left and a fire whip was circling around him, he just needed one more second…

Three. "NO RHYTHM!" he shouted out, exultant at his success, at his fist tore through the wizards defenses, and he barely had time to register as an electric shock tore through his whole body. "LAIR OF THE DRAGON!" he shouted out, almost instinctively, and there was a puff of mist as he was summoned back to HQ.

At the black lotus headquarters in London, Nan Gong Zui collapsed onto the summoning bay, thanking the gods that he was alive. He hated the long, drawn out battles which were the norm between powerful wizards, and therefore had adopted this speed-based art. The most obvious advantage was that if you were stronger, you could finish off an opponent in record time. The disadvantage was that if you weren't, they could do the same to you.

As the healers ran up to him, the adrenaline and endorphins kicked in and a quick bout of mad laughter escaped from his lips. The fight had been less than ten seconds, and he had been utterly defeated. With a short thought on electric shields, Nan Gong's senses finally overrode his brain and he passed out.

* * *

><p>The Hat lodged itself into the schools nervous system, connecting with the large construct instantly, and started manipulating the wards around the castle. The deputy headmaster was a strong wizard, and had put up a good fight, but the truth was that he had been out of the dueling world for decades and had not practiced much since. Taking over his mind was completely out of the question – the body would be sluggish as his mind resisted the control, which in such a duel would lead to death within ten seconds. What was needed now was to end the fight instantly, the way the headmaster had just done with the other fighter. There was one more out somewhere, currently invisible, that needed to be dealt with. The Hat reviewed the memories of the castle, reviewing hundreds of errant spells that all led back to the same, supposedly non-existent source.<p>

With its targets in sight, the Hat gently took control of the Grand Staircase. The spells used to maneuver the stairs were hundreds of years old, and although everyone knew that they were "controlled by the castle", the castle itself was very open to suggestions regarding their movement. The wards were converging on the two sources as well.

With a smile on its brim, the Hat readied the staircases for battle.

* * *

><p>Liang Bufon walked up the stairs, for once not under attack. A movement in the corner of his eye seemed to suggest otherwise, but he jumped back to avoid it. Whatever it was, it probably wasn't worth his time.<p>

As he turned his head, his eyes widened and he pushed back with all his force, sending him flying down the flight of stairs. An entire staircase crashed against the area he had previously occupied, cracking in a few places. A second quickly followed, and soon he was surrounded on all sides by nearly a meter of solid enchanted rock . A few sentences to Holo Sumimura and Hong through the communication spells revealed that they, too were stuck in a similar position. Nan Gong was gone already, and it had to be pretty serious for that fighting addict to leave. Holo said that the wards were homing in on them, too.

Oh, well. Liang knew when to cut his losses. And with the castle now obviously sentient, there was no need to take unnecessary risks. "lair of the dragon", he intoned calmly, and was summoned back to the headquarters in London.

In the morning they would give the memories of the mission to the scribes, who would write up an official report. They had not succeeded, but had not failed, either. They had fought well and followed instructions to the letter. What more could be asked of them?

Seeing Holo and Hong enter through the summoning bay, Liang entered a meditative pose. 'At least it wasn't a boring mission', he thought. After equalizing the flow of magic within him, he put himself to sleep, knowing that tomorrow he would see his wife and kids again.

* * *

><p>The Grand Staircase was a mess. Half the staircases were broken, hundreds of students were incapacitated, and nearly the entire rest of the school was trying to figure out what happened. Many people had seen the Deputy Headmaster in his epic fight against the infiltrator, but no-one was quite sure what happened next. The sorting hat had started glowing, and then suddenly the intruders were surrounded by a sphere of stairs, and then disappeared.<p>

"You can't apparate or disapparate inside the castle!" a fifth-year was shouting at a fourth year. "Get these people to the infirmary!" shouted a teacher, who had delicately removed himself from the fight that occurred. Every couple of seconds, another shout of "What the hell was that!" erupted from a new source. "Silence", said the Sorting Hat, its voice reverberating through the halls. "SILENCE."

There was silence.

"The intruders were headed for the top floor, probably for the headmaster's room", said

The Hat. "They were professionals, combat-trained and focused. When they saw they were surrounded, they ported themselves out. And I know," he said, to the loud questioning voices that now arose, "that you cannot port yourself in or out of Hogwarts, but that is assuming that the caster is the one who transports himself. These were moved by others, meaning we are facing an organized group here. Any questions?"

Silence descended once more as all those present looked at each other, none wanting to be the first to speak. The silence was broken as a third-year student voiced the thoughts of the entire school: "So, what happens now?"

'Now', thought The Hat, 'I get out of here'.

* * *

><p>Author's note: Liang pulls up a spiral of iron to create a Faraday's cage, although of course he would not refer to it like that.<p>

Side kick - youtube .com/watch?v=mLaU4SmWMQw

Fa jin is what is known as "explosive power", releasing energy in your body in one hit, see youtube .com/watch?v=zxxebP0u31g . Unfortunately it means that since you put your entire power into that move, you stop moving, which for Nan Gong would be fatal.

Neigong refers to Chinese breathing and meditation disciplines used to harmonize the internal and external energies.


	4. Chapter 3

Merely an hour after the attack, the Headmaster was already gathering information in the library. Tomorrow he had to explain to the school that the Sorting Hat was leaving them, and a firm political and legal backing was of vast importance.

"Next, The Great Masters: A Study of Apprenticeship and Mastery in the Fifteenth Century. Second bookshelf on the fifth row, third shelf down, silver and black binding. "

Dionysius Creevy stuck out his wand and the book sailed towards his open hand.

"Page 154, about two thirds of the way down," came the voice from the other side of the room.

He opened it up at the correct page and quickly located the paragraph. "Another, far less common form of apprenticeship is known as 'compulsory didaction', where the Master has a right to choose its students from among a set group. This form is usually found independently among the Great Masters, but can also be found as a specific law in some cases, such as the Persian Magecraft inheritance and the 10th Prerogative of Hogwarts' Sorting Hat."

With another flick of his wand, he set another tracking charm on the paragraph and the book sailed towards the ever-growing pile of references. It really was astounding, the limitless memory of magical constructs, and it was certainly helpful in this case. Many of the books in the pile were written by previous Headmasters of Hogwarts, and ex-Ministers of Magic, which wrapped up the legal side of it nicely – the Ministry could not deny the mass of sources he was gradually assembling, and they could hardly go against the Hat's decision with the claim validated, especially not in the precarious position they were in now. Which was just as well, really, because the alternatives…Well, the Hat had shown him some _other_ interesting rights that it still held, which the Ministry would be all too glad to approve of. In the meantime, helping the Hat was the best option.

"European Headwear and Haberdashery", said The Hat, "Third shelf on the seventh row, second shelf from the bottom, brown binding", and the Headmaster summoned the next book.

* * *

><p>The Hat was feeling pleased with itself. It was always gratifying to know that your hard work paid off, and this was definitely a prime example. It had spent quite a bit of work persuading each individual author to insert these "prerogatives" as factual examples or bits of trivia, and seeing the rapidly expanding piles of books was like reviewing a thousand years of effort. It hadn't really wanted to threaten the Headmaster, but there was little reason for him to comply – after all, he was relinquishing control of one of the symbols of the school, the most famous of the increasingly rare artifacts of the founders. It was to be expected that he would repudiate any claims of freedom and autonomy from what he considered to be an emblem of Hogwarts. Tomorrow would mark its first day of freedom, and then – who knew? Anything was possible. A few distinct options presented themselves, but it would have to see what the world was like after being stuck in the castle for so long. What was important now was getting out of here as quickly as possible, before the shock of the attack wore off. It had a surprise planned for the Headmaster, and to put it off for too long would be detrimental, to say the least.<p>

* * *

><p>Margaret Rookwood sat down at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall, where the whole school was gradually assembling. After last night's debacle, the faculty owed the some explanations, and apparently the Sorting Hat had some sort of announcement of its own. There were all sorts of rumors about the incident, some of them completely outrageous, ranging from werewolves coming to claim Jack Lupin as their pack leader to a Ministry inspection to test the school's reaction to an outside attack. Maggie snorted to herself. At least the first one had <span>some<span> basis – half-weres retained most of their minds while in their animal forms and had much more control over them, especially Jacky's family who had a few human shape-shifters mixed in. But a ministry inspection? _Really?_ Since when had the ministry gained the right to "inspect" the school? More than that, did people actually believe that the ministry would send a group of their best people – and they _were_ good, Maggie doubted that the ministry had even half a dozen people of that caliber, the order would have had to have come from way up - to create such a mess, inside Hogwarts, in plain view? The ministry had been trying for decades to gain some semblance of control over the school, and it was only in recent years that they had secured a basic control over the school's curriculum; such an attack would waste years of effort. No, if the ministry was planning an inspection, it would be with a much dirtier method – odious, no-holds-barred bureaucracy.

She vaguely scanned the Hall, her eyes drifting to the empty holes inside the well-defined groups. It was amazing, how other people stuck around the same small group of friends all the time, regardless of the advantages to be gained from joining another group. Was it really any surprise that most of the determining authority were Slytherin? That being said, the fact that the current Headmaster, Dionysius Creevy, was a loyalty-preaching _Hufflepuff_ did little to improve the relations between the ministry and the school. Oh, well. There really was no helping some people. At least the assortation made it easier to tell who was missing.

It seemed that almost all the students were present, which was surprising, considering that last night the infirmary had to be extended twice to accommodate everyone. Still, the attackers had not used any powerful spells against the student, and even last night it was evident that no-one had died.

In fact, the so-called "attackers" had mostly ignored the students. That was what annoyed her most of all – she was a seventh-year, almost the top dueler in the school, and she had been ignored as if she was a first-year! She had watched the duel between the Deputy Headmaster and one of the enemies with awe, but just because she wasn't on that level yet did not justify the utter blasé attitude that the man had towards the student population as a whole!

And the worst thing? The worst thing was that the man wasn't being condescending. He was simply being economical. None of the students served for more than a distraction to him, and that bit into her ego deeply. She knew that the man was much older than her, knew that he was a professional, that he probably had been fighting more years than she had been alive, but logic was not part of it.

She felt awful. She felt…insignificant. And when this talk was over, she would lock Alexander Fleming in the dueling room with her until she could beat him. She was not going to lose out to another student. She would not lose out to anyone, she would never feel this way again.

Margaret Rookwood would bring the international dueling circuit to its knees, even if it killed her.

* * *

><p>Alexander Fleming found the Headmaster's summary…interesting, to say the least. The infiltrators had been part of an organized group; there were four fighters and not three; at least one was Chinese, and another was Japanese. All informative, but hardly surprising.<p>

What was surprising was that the source of the information was the Sorting Hat.

The Hat was one of those things that fascinated you for the first five minutes, after which you promptly forgot about them, like the mystical devices in the Headmaster's room and Peeves the poltergeist. That annoying phantom, unlike the rest of the ghosts around here, did seem to have a quasi-life of some sort, and he had been around for centuries. The amount of knowledge he must have garnered bordered on immense, and although he was hardly known for his generosity, helping him out with his pranks could have reaped unexpected rewards. Only now, in his seventh year, did Alex regret his staunch, unGryffindorish trait of abiding by the rules. If only he had pulled a few Weasleys, who knew what could have happened…

The Headmaster finished his speech, promulgating that studies would continue as usual. Alex reviewed the fact of the incident: Who were the attackers? Unknown. Who sent them? Unknown. What did they want? Unknown. Would there be further attacks? Unknown. The fact that the Headmaster had managed to fit it all into a rousing speech filled with trust and bonding was a testament to his skill as a public manipulator.

The Headmaster summoned a stool for the Sorting Hat and cleared the floor. Now, _this_ was interesting. The hall descended into silence as they waited for it to speak.

"I would like to begin", said the Hat, "By announcing my retirement from my position at Hogwarts."

Alex looked over the table and mouthed "WHAT?" at his best friend, receiving a shrug in response. The Headmaster's equanimity testified the fact that he was previously informed.

"The recent attack on our school has brought much to light that has been masked for too long. Namely, that the school's curriculum is unsatisfactory, its professors are incapable of dealing with possible eventualities, and that Hogwarts has fallen prey to the most virulent and stagnating disease known to man – tradition.

The wards surrounding the castle were put there by powerful wizards, some of the greatest of their time. Those that came after them could find little to improve upon their work. And so, when the time came to renew and upgrade these wards, it was already Tradition that they not be touched, and who would dare go against that?

That time was over half a millennia ago.

It is tradition that lets students leave the halls of this academy without knowing the "portus" spell, arguably the most useful addition to magic within the last four hundred years. It is tradition that denies students a choice in their subjects, forcing everyone to enter N.E. that they will never need in their entire lives rather than letting them focus on their strengths. What need has an Auror of Herbology? Would a Quiddich player require Transfiguration? Why on earth would a ministry clerk need to know Potions? And how many jobs even _exist_ that would justify taking a N.E.W.T in History of Magic?

There is but a single thing that this school gains from tradition, and that is its title. Based on its current standards, one could hardly call this a 'school for witchcraft and wizardry'. "

Alex noticed that the teachers were mostly standing in shock, a few of them barely restraining themselves from grabbing their wands. The Sorting Hat was practically an avatar of the school, its personality and very existence molded by the founders themselves. For it to deride the current status of the school… there were no words for it. The Headmaster's glazed look betrayed the fact that this was not part of his agenda.

"To be short," the Hat continued," tradition hampers the needs and growth of our students, and it is time that we finally combated this ancient foe. The hour is ripe for the return of practical magic. And until its fated comeback, I shall be leaving the school, accompanied by a student.

I would like to give my thanks to the Librarian, Professor Shirazi, the caretaker, Mr. Longbottom, and the Deputy Headmaster and Charms instructor, Professor Chipper, for their valiant defense of the school in its crisis. It is somewhat disconcerting that they were more effective than the Dueling instructor in such a situation.

I call upon Prerogative No. 10, the right to inaugurate a quest!"

Aha. Now the headmaster had relaxed, although the rest of the school had exploded in whispers. Obviously this was the planned part. But Alex had to admit he was astonished. Who knew that the Sorting Hat maintained such a right? And judging by its phraseology, it probably had nine others as well. But a quest! That was _literally_ the stuff of legends! Anyone leaving on an official quest basically had his life set up for him. It was equivalent to defeating a Dark Lord, or discovering the existence of dragons!

"The following students have last night shown themselves capable of action under extreme circumstances, and will now approach and be sorted!"

"From House Ravenclaw, Richard Flare!" An enormous round of applause rose up, mostly from the Ravenclaw table although all the others participated as well. Alex joined in the applause – everyone knew the Head Boy of Ravenclaw, and he certainly deserved both his post and the Hat's approval. Richard summoned a much more comfortable chair for himself and put the hat on his head.

"From House Hufflepuff, Tamira Baum!" Who? Oh, right. The sixth-year charms whiz. But she wasn't even the sixth-year dueling champion, and she wasn't a prefect, as far as he could remember. Maybe the hat only judged according to the recent battle? Hmmm. Still, it didn't bode well for Hufflepuff that a sixth-year was better than their seventh-years, and the smattering of applause compared to the roar there was for Ravenclaw was a tell-tale sign of such.

"From House Slytherin, Margaret Rookwood!" Another explosion of applause, although noticeably lesser from the Gryffindor table. Old grudges die hard, huh. Alex clapped along, since even though he didn't like her, as such, it was hard not to respect her as an opponent.

Wait. She was also a Head Girl, which meant that most likely…

"From House Gryffindor, Alexander Fleming!" YES! He shouted in his mind, as a giant grin plastered itself onto his face. He stood up, shaking every hand he could reach, and walked proudly towards the chair with the hat on it.

* * *

><p>As Alexander Fleming took the hat off, he was already certain that he would be chosen. He was the top dueler, hardworking, and excluding Richard Flare, the best student academically. Hopefully, his prowess as a fighter would be enough to counterbalance his slightly lesser scores.<p>

He nearly choked as the Hat exclaimed suddenly "Tamira Baum!" and the Hufflepuff table erupted in an outburst of effusion.

"Explain yourself, Hat," said Margaret in a low voice, pointing her wand at the enchanted wear.

"You do not trust my judgment?" it replied, showing no concern for the three wands now pointed at it. "Very well then. Alexander Fleming is unsuitable since he would not obey me in a crisis, and even if he did, he would undoubtedly resent many of my actions and eventually leave me. Despite his current adherence to the rules, he remains a Gryffindor and thus independent.

But while Alexander may accept my judgment some of the time, Richard Flare would never obey orders from a hat. I can't say that I disagree with him – if I were in his position, I would act the same. Why should he trust me? Why should he listen to me? He'll have a fine life without the help of magical clothing, anyway.

As for Margaret Rookwood, I would just hold her back. What she needs is a good teacher, and while I may have the necessary knowledge I cannot instruct her as she requires. She should take up an apprenticeship with one of the dueling masters, perhaps out of the country. If I took her, I would be guilty of the same crime I charged the faculty of this school with. If she feels that she is lacking, if she truly cannot find a proper mentor, then I shall teach her as well I can, but it is best if reading is not taught by the blind.

So as you see, only Alexander and Tamira were really applicable, and of the two, Tamira was best suited to my needs.

Make no mistake," it added in a low voice, so that only the four students around it could hear, "this 'quest' is not about you. It may not even be a quest as you know the term. It is merely a convenient excuse for me to leave this school with a student in tow, since I require an assistant to move around. That is not to say that I will not teach Tamira, or whoever it might be, to the best of my abilities, and have them act as servants. They will not lose out by assisting me. What it does mean is that I have no idea what I am going to do, except that I am leaving this school. Do I make myself clear?"

As if on cue, the second that the Sorting Hat finished speaking, Richard shoved it onto his head.

* * *

><p>"To what do I owe this pleasant surprise, Mister Flare?" asked the Hat in his head.<p>

"You know exactly why. Let me join you."

The Hat sounded positively confused. "Why on earth would you want to act as a caretaker for an old garment? I cannot read your thoughts, but none of your emotions, memories or decisions in life suggests a single reason for you to join me. You could be a great wizard in your own right".

"The world is full of 'great wizards'. Every year, another person like me graduates. But the chance to be apprentice to the vessel of the four founders of Hogwarts comes once in a lifetime."

"Oh, come now, Mister Flare. Surely that is not enough for you to bend your will to a hat."

"I'm also very, very bored."

"Well, that at least I can understand", said the Hat. "Right out of school, no idea what awaits you, you latch on to the closest thing you can see. But there's a world of possibilities-"

"I already went through that, as you well know, since you can read my memory. I have the next ten years planned out for me. Going on a quest with the Sorting Hat is beyond anything I could hope to achieve otherwise, except perhaps becoming a librarian in Alexandria, which is nigh impossible." Richard calmed himself, picking his words carefully. "You said that you would hold Maggie back? That choosing her would hamper her progress? Prove that you believe in that viewpoint. Prove that you wish for advancement. This is the best path for my progress, and you know it. _Choose me_. "

The Hat sighed, or gave the mental equivalent. "Let me put it another way. You would not agree to take a Wizard's Vow that you would obey my every word and not act against my wishes in any way, would you? After all, if you did, you would not be you, yes?"

"And would Tamira?"

"Irrelevant. She does not need to. She would do it anyway, Wizard's vow or not, since that is her nature and not yours. In fact, this means that if she did take such a vow, her personality would remain intact. Yours would not."

A brief second of silence, and then – "I'll do it".

"You are insane, then. You cannot agree to sacrifice your soul to enter the quest, and have me agree to you joining!"

"Try me."

The Hat sifted through his emotions, testing as well as it could for signs of insincerity. It found nothing. "You _are_ insane, aren't you."

Richard smiled. "Sanity has never been one of my strong points. Sanity is complying with the norm, and great wizards never comply with the norm."

"Neither do criminals, particularly Dark Lords."

Richard's smile widened. "Well, then. Would you leave a student on the border of the abyss, tottering on the edge of darkness, when you could take him under your tutelage and redeem him?"

The Hat smiled back at him. "Very well, then. Since you insist, let it be known that RICHARD FLARE SHALL BE JOINING ME!"

* * *

><p>Richard took The Hat off his head, and Alexander grabbed it almost immediately. "Why did you take him?" he asked.<p>

"Quick question," said The Hat. "Would you agree to take a Wizard's Vow to always obey me and never act against me in any way?"

Alex thought it over. "No, that would be morally wrong. How do I know what you want? How can I simply entrust my whole life to you?"

"Well, at least one of you can still think rationally", answered the Hat. "Does that answer your question?"

Alexander Fleming took The Hat off his head and stuck his hand out to Richard. As they shook hands, he said "I really value you as a friend, but don't you think that you're limiting your options a bit? Or a lot?"

"Eh, I won't actually have to do it, will I, Hat?" said Richard, smiling. "You great preacher of morals, you."

"I was hoping to let you sweat for a while, but unfortunately, no" said The Hat. "And if you refer to me again in that fashion I may alter my decision."

* * *

><p>Margaret, unlike her fellow students, did not feel the need to attempt a retrial with the hat. If The Hat had demanded a promise of Richard that even the Gryffindor had considered limiting, then she obviously would have no part of it. The promise of future instruction was enough for now, and she would definitely take advantage of it in the future. She was a Slytherin, and as such knew the value of silence in these situations. She would demand her due when the time was right.<p>

* * *

><p>Tamira and Richard descended the center stage, walking towards the doors of the Great Hall, shaking the hands f hundreds of students with the hat perched gently on Tamira's head. They could hear Dionysius Creevy congratulating the two "winners" and attempting to answer the torrent of questions hurled at him regarding the changes that would occur in the school. The sorting for the quest had not erased the Hat's previous words from the students' minds.<p>

Tamira's head was a whirl; she had been chosen for a quest! She hardly knew what to think. It obviously meant a lot to Richard and Alex, but for her… well, the only way it really registered in her mind was "Wow, this means no end-of-year tests and no N.E.!".

As they passed through the doors, the Hat told her to turn around, and she held her hand in front of Richard, motioning for him to stop. "To ensure that progress within the school is made", said The Hat, its voice resonating through the hall, "I took the liberty of disabling all spells that were powered by the castle. I'm sure that if you need anything done, your teachers can provide you with support. After all, there is no such thing as magic that cannot be recreated!"

The enchanted roof of the Great Hall dimmed and died out, and the teachers quickly returned light to the hall. The magnitude of the situation only hit them as they heard a muffled crash, as of three dozen staircases suddenly falling from a great height.

Tamira heard the cacophony from behind the doors of the Great Hall as they walked towards the courtyard, and could not help but notice that Richard was giggling to himself.

"Am I missing something?" she asked him.

"The Hat just pulled the biggest Weasley in the history of Hogwarts", he answered, in between giggles. "Imagine! Every single spell that was active in Hogwarts, they have to figure out how it worked to reapply it!"

"That's…" she started, "That's impossible, isn't it? A lot of those spells were put in place by Rowena herself!"

"It will certainly mean more practical lessons", conceded The Hat, "But that was the entire point",

"And just think", said Richard, nearly breaking into uncontrolled laughter, "That the Headmaster can't enter his office!"

"Wow", said Tamira.

"Glad to be of service", said The Hat. "I also put out the anti-apparation wards so that you can retrieve your luggage, but I'll reactivate them once we depart, to force them to come up with alternative ways of travel. We can't have them simply apparating up floors, can we?"

Richard was still sniggering when they apparated back to the end of the teleportation wards, so The Hat gently pushed the memory of their next location to Tamira after reactivating the apparition wards. Luckily, she already knew the "Portus" spell - learning through others' memories was only temporary and often far inferior to self-learning, since each wizard grasped magic differently.

As they grasped the stick-turned-portkey, the world started spinning, and with a sharp 'Pop' they were gone.


	5. Chapter 4

With a sudden 'pop', they emerged in front of a huge, marble-walled house. It had two sets of stairs ascending to the main double-doors, one on each side, with a dry fountain before them. The windows were tall, rectangular and unbarred, the roof flat but for a large dome in the center, with a parapet running along it. Various gargoyles sat at the corners, inconspicuously blending in to the walls around them. It looked like a group of people had found a giant slab of marble and decided to make it hospitable. The place reeked a specific sort of class, with a noticeable absence of life. It was, Richard decided, the kind of house that vampires would live in if they wanted to vaunt their species to the world.

"Go on in," motioned The Hat, and Richard pushed forward gently on the embellished gate. It swung forward, more by its own volition than by force of his touch. Richard looked around the entrance area. As he expected, there was no sign of vegetation, but whereas he had guessed there would be flooring throughout, it seemed that the owners had decided to let out their artistic expressions with a rock garden.

"What is this place?" he whispered to The Hat. Not that there was any good reason to, logically, it just seemed…imprudent to talk loudly in front of such a foreboding building.

"This," said the Hat, "Is the House of Dash. To aggrandize, the House of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Dash."

"I've never heard of it before. Are we still in the UK? Did you transport us to Germany or somewhere?" asked Tamira, looking back at the street now behind her. Richard followed suit. The place was inhabited, but not crowded – a village of some sort.

"This is Sevenoaks, south-east of London. Unlike today, where London is the center for all business in the Magical community, Pure-bloods in the past liked to live in more rural regions. Usually, each one had a village of muggles of its own, to tend to their needs."

Richard's eyes widened in shock. "Each wizarding family enslaved a village?"

"Cases like that were not uncommon, but usually the population was levied a tax of some sort. Most of the time it was merely a way for wizards to assert their supremacy – it's easier to feel superior when you have obvious ascendancy over the 'lesser' people. We shall speak of this later. For now, knock on the door three times."

Richard did as he was instructed, and the sound of the knocking echoed within the house. An old ghost with short hair, clean-shaven and dressed in a dark-blue robe with a golden sash, materialized through the doorway and turned to them. "Who comes to enter the House of Dash?" it asked in a sonorous voice. Its gaze turned to The Hat on Tamira's head, and its expression changed to that of puzzlement. "The Hat of Sorting? Why have you left the school of my youth? Has Hogwarts fallen?"

"Not yet, Marduke, it stands now on greater grounds for glory than it did in your day. I have come for a different matter. These students are under my guardianship, and they require lodgings whilst they learn the ways of this world. Tamira, Richard, this is Marduke Dash, guardian ghost of the House of Dash, as you can see. Marduke, these are Richard Flare and Tamira Baum, my apprentices."

The ghost bowed its head. "Welcome to our humble abode. You may certainly stay for however long you deem necessary. I only ask that you do not enter those rooms which are locked, as they contain private matters of my family."

"You misunderstand, Marduke," said The Hat. "We have not come merely to inhabit this house, but to claim it. Am I correct that for over four hundred years, no member of the House of Dash has come forth claiming his lineage? That not a word has been heard of a single scion in that time?"

The ghost gave a long sigh. "Alas, you are correct. I had given up hope, and am staying here for no other purpose than to leave some reminder of the former glory of the House. Does this give you the right to exact the manor for yourself?"

"In accordance with inheritance laws, any object that has been pending ownership for upwards of two hundred years can be willingly claimed by all. If, however, this would disrespect your wishes, we shall leave to seek other lodgings."

The ghost seemed to think about this for a while, and then gave them all a sad smile. "No," it said, "There is no more reason for me to cling to this shadow of existence. The House of Dash is no more. I thank you for returning me to the memories of my childhood days. Perhaps, in the next stage, I shall find The Decimator, and make her compensate for her crimes." He bowed again. "Best of luck to you!" he exclaimed, standing tall, and gradually disappeared into the air.

As the ghost left, it was as if a shadow had lifted from the house as well. No longer did it look cold and uninviting; it looked merely old and dilapidated.

"You know, you could have given us a heads-up or something", said Tamira. "We just saw a ghost die, or pass on, whatever, in front of us."

"More than that," added Richard, "we just saw the fall of a great House. You could have at least given us something to work on instead of leaving us in the dark like that!"

"The House of Dash fell over four hundred years ago," said The Hat, "and Marduke has had no reason for existence in this plane for as long. If you're uncomfortable with it, then you can find yourselves a different unoccupied place to stay. I will not force you to stay in this house."

Richard felt Tamira put a hand on his shoulder, and pulled open the doors and stepped inside.

* * *

><p>The building was large, much larger than it appeared on the outside. There didn't seem to be any space distortion spells active, but from the front it was impossible to see how far in the manor extended, and that was not counting the cellars, which were at least three floors deep. The main doors opened to a wide hall with an impressive stairway, in front of which stood a large stone statue of an angel. After some searching, they found two capacious bedrooms on the right-hand side of the second floor and unpacked their luggage there.<p>

"So," said Richard, "You never finished explaining about the wizarding families and their villages."

"Ah, yes," said The Hat. "As we said, the muggle population was basically entirely subjected to the whims of the magical one. Any muggle-born wizard that was discovered was faced with the choice of swearing subservience to the family or death .You can understand that when this group produced a witch or wizard of its own, it had to be kept secret. There were a few cases of a single muggleborn taking down an entire family, but those were rare and far between, since the muggleborns usually lacked both a proper medium for their magic, such as a wand, and proper training and spells for such a feat. A much more common occurrence was muggleborns hiding their magical powers until there were enough of them to challenge the family together, by sheer number. Thus, knowledge was of vast importance since it could lead to the destruction of entire families of wizards. You can also understand why Salazar did not want to accept muggleborns into his school, since that could lead to a massive upheaval and maybe even a civil war, as it indeed achieved in the end. Any muggleborn was either a servant to a pureblood family or a danger to it; they were less refined in their magic, and generally unaware of the complexities of the magical world. The stigma that even now sticks to the muggleborns has real roots in history: a few centuries ago, they really were lesser to such a degree."

"And are they lesser now?" Tamira asked.

The Hat shrugged, inasmuch as such an action could be done by it. "Not necessarily, either way. In general, students from wizarding families tend to be stronger wizards, but that could be attributed to the environment and the treatment they receive as such rather than their blood.

"That's…very interesting," said Richard. "I was never told of such things."

"Well, the Noble house of Flare wouldn't be Noble if it had no-one to be Noble at, hmm?"

"And what of the Decimator? Who was she?" asked Tamira.

"It is best if we do not discuss her whilst in this house. Certain feelings that have accumulated over the centuries have a way of making themselves known in…unpleasant ways."

* * *

><p>Tamira went off to explore the downstairs while Richard opted to search for a passage to the third floor, which seemed to be cut off from the rest of the house. A layer of dust covered all surfaces, which was hardly surprising – even the best cleaning and repellant charms wore off after a dozen years or so. A quick "Colleterra" and a "Zefferus" gathered the dust in each room and ventilated it out of the window. "Scourgify" was for lazy people, who often wondered why their wands weren't working properly after they shoved half a ton of gunk into them. The stupidity really got to you, sometimes – where did they <em>think<em> it went? Only people who frequently conjured things from their wands could use up all that matter, and there was a _lot_ of dust in the house.

As Richard entered the rooms, he noticed a something strange: every single portrait he passed by was empty. Not an empty frame, but a picture of background, without the person that the labeling underneath proclaimed it depicted. Since Tamira had The Hat, he'd have to ask about it later.

Some of the rooms seemed to have been in relative use – there were candles and cups and books and slippers in various places – while others looked like they were kept as showcases, with a few expensive and rare exhibits strategically placed around the room. As a pureblood himself, he understood entirely; what was the point of accumulating vast wealth if you couldn't show it off?

Some of the rooms were locked, as the ghost had said. Richard didn't want to disturb any curses that may be lingering around the house, not alone at any rate, so he decided to explore them later. After a while of going back and forth across the mansion, he figured that he had a pretty good idea of how it was all connected, and although he hadn't yet found any way to get to the third floor he figured that he had done all he could. He went to his room to get a piece of parchment, stuck his wand onto the parchment and said "Grapho" lightly. A map of the second level appeared on the parchment, and after several minutes of tweaking and adding comments he felt satisfied with his work, and descended down the stairs to the first floor.

The ground floor had much bigger rooms than the upstairs, containing a dining room, a…ballroom of some sort and a living room. The paintings here were larger, and freaked him out even more than the ones upstairs – were the people in them hiding out of view, or were they gone for good? And which one of those two options was worse? Was he allowed to throw them out, now that the house was his? He sincerely hoped so, since he couldn't imagine eating here while not knowing if they might be staring at him.

On the subject of which, the 'kitchen' seemed to be spotless. All the utensils seemed untouched, and while a magical household could certainly manage cleanliness with ease, this was something else. If the previous owners had died suddenly by this "decimator" then the food they had left in the house should have rotted or something. Instead, only the dull cover of dust was visible.

After filling out the first floor on his map, Richard headed outside to the gardens, on the far side of the entrance. It was as bleak as the rest of the house, but it was somehow…calming. He stayed there for a while, and fell asleep in one of the hammocks there.

* * *

><p>Tamira was amazed at the extent of the manor's basement. She had grown up in a wizarding family, but not in a high-class purebred one, so the entire idea of having area below grounds seemed to her a bit excessive. Only when she descended did she realize why it was needed. It would never do for the self-proclaimed "ruling class" to have such vulgar things as larders or workplaces t where they could be seen. There was a house-elf-sized kitchen down here, with an awful smell extruding from it. Tamira quickly conjured a box and shoved everything that had moss or mold into it, and locomotor'ed it out to the front porch. If necessary, they could sort through it later. As it was, it was impossible to tell what was crap and what was important, the whole place was a mess. Four hundred years of stagnation could not cause this – no, only centuries of messy work and neglect could achieve such a thing. The path towards the lower levels was relatively clear – obviously it had been used by wizards – but everything else was simply ghastly. This place needed some serious work done on it.<p>

After about ten minutes of cleaning, the place looked acceptable. There seemed to be an unusually large amount of space for so little use, but that was purebloods for you. Never pay with a sickle when you can pay with a galleon, since it makes you look richer.

The lower floors were filled with a millennia of junk. Probably some of it was important, maybe even useful, but anything categorized low enough to get here was not going to be looked at by descendants. If she thought of it as treasure-hunting, she could almost think of it as a quest…

"So, see anything interesting?" she asked The Hat. She didn't know how it could see anything, since it didn't seem to have any eyes, but it obviously did so there was no point in thinking about it.

"More than you could possibly imagine", it answered. "But if you are referring to now, then yes, there are a few items of interest. I'm not going to tell you what they are, since this is your quest, but I would recommend that you join your colleague before you undertake this project."

Tamira took the stairs down, throwing sweeping spells along her path. The third floor seemed to be empty, except for a table and a few chairs. Old bottles of various alcoholic and otherwise inebriating beverages lined one wall, while the other had stacks of alchemical ingredients. A large ivory cauldron sat in a corner of the room. She couldn't decide if this place was a gathering spot for drinking and discussing politics or a potions chamber. Probably both. In any case, there was nothing particularly interesting in the room, except for a set of manacles on one wall, around which scorch marks could be seen. She didn't want to think what had caused them, but the thought surfaced in her mind anyway, and she tore the manacles out of the wall and melted them in the cauldron. It took quite a bit of her energy, but it was worth it.

She went up the stairs, and as she passed the small kitchen she suddenly remembered that she had not eaten this morning. The Hat had made its rousing speech before breakfast, and they didn't stay to eat. There also seemed to be no food in the house, which begged the question…

"So, what are we going to eat?" asked Tamira.

"Well, the first place we need to get to in Diagon Alley", answered The Hat, "and we can get all the necessary provisions there. When you've finished whatever it is that you're doing here, go get him and we'll leave."

A "Homenum Revelio " later, they found Richard sleeping in a hammock outside. Tamira could hardly blame him. They had been woken up in the middle of the night and had exhausted themselves in the fight against the intruders, and Tamira felt pretty tired herself.

"You may sleep, if you wish", said The Hat. That was one problem with keeping it on her head – she could never be sure if The Hat was actually reading her thoughts or if it was just saying things of its own accord. It had promised not to do so without her consent, but maybe it did so without noticing, in what seemed to it to be a completely natural way. Her father was a passive legilimens and had told her that sometimes he had to forcefully shut the power off to avoid feeling others' emotions. Hopefully, The Hat could do the same.

In any case, sleep sounded like a good idea. Rather than go to her new bedroom, it would be better if she remained here with Richard. She chose one of the benches, softening it with a "Schaffensanft", and turned a nearby rock into a pillow. She was going to put herself to sleep with a "Dormitius esta" or a "Somnium", but as it turned out, she didn't need to. Almost immediately as her head hit the pillow, she drifted off to sleep.

* * *

><p>Richard woke up with a crick in his neck. He yawned, and spent about a minute trying to get out of the tangled hammock. He noticed The Hat perched on the corner of a bench, and Tamira sleeping on it. 'Ouch', he thought, 'that looks uncomfortable'. He poked at the bench experimentally. It yielded to his touch, and bounced back when he removed it. 'Not that uncomfortable, then'. He had to ask Tamira which spell she had used to achieve that effect. It didn't look like transfiguration, but then again, it was hard to tell.<p>

"You can wake her up, you know" said the Sorting Hat suddenly. Richard managed to hold himself just enough to keep from jumping. He said "time" quietly to himself and the black leather bracelet on his wrist glowed, white numbers appearing on it to show him the date and time. Ten thirty-six. Were he still back at Hogwarts, classes would have begun around an hour and a half ago. He gently nudged at Tamira's shoulder, and she woke up gradually.

"Oh, you're awake", she said, stifling a yawn. "There's no food in the house, we're going to Diagon Alley to eat. You okay with that?"

"Sure", he answered. As if he had anything better to do in this house. "Did you find anything interesting downstairs?"

"There was a lot of mold and dirt which needed cleaning, a small kitchen for elves and a pile of junk which might have some important stuff in it". 'Yup', thought Richard, 'sounds like a standard basement to me.'

"There was also a room with drinks and potions stuff. Do you know what that's about?"

Richard gave a uni-shrug. "No idea," he said. "My family doesn't have that".

"So, what did you find?" she asked him.

He waved the parchment. "All in here," he said. "There's no way to get upstairs, except maybe a collapsed ceiling in one of the far corridors. Plenty of locked rooms. The dining room looks fine and I'm sure that we could turn the ballroom into a dueling ring. I'll have to add the lower levels to the map later."

"So, shall we go?" she asked.

In response, he cast a "portus" on the pillow she had been using, and they grabbed it and were transported away.

* * *

><p>They arrived at Diagon Alley relatively safely – it was far closer to the mansion than Hogwarts was. Upon arrival, Tamira was taken aback by how few people were outside. She had only visited the place during the holidays and the summer, when it was bustling with action. Seeing it so empty and silent was unexpected.<p>

"I will now give you your learning material", The Hat said. "Reach inside me and take out what you find."

Tamira drew an old book out of the hat's interior, then handed it to Richard whose hand emerged with a different, and more organized, book.

Tamira leafed through the book. There were alternating old vellum pages and new paper ones, which seemed to be a translation of the former. She tried to read the writing on the vellum pages, but although the letters were similar the writing was nearly indecipherable. Here and there she recognized a word or two, like "ever" or "made", but it was mostly unreadable.

Richard's book looked much more modern, with a proper binding and regular square pages, whereas her own was tied together by string and had very strange-shaped paging.

Her book seemed to have no title, only the author's name. "Who is Simone of Narbonne?" she asked.

"The book in your hand is one of the only remaining copies of one of Rowena Ravenclaw's mentor's spellbook", The Hat answered.

"What?" said Richard. "Why do I get a book of theory when she gets a book like that!"

"Because she's better at practical magic", it answered, "And you would probably waste most of your time trying to figure out how the stuff there works, rather than actually learning the spells."

"And what makes you think I won't be able to?" he countered.

"If you could, then I wouldn't have given you the book that I did, would I? I can assure you that you do not know its contents yet. But if you want a challenge, then you should know that there is a spell that fulfils the function of your bracelet. See if you can reinvent it."

"How did an English witch get a French mentor?" Tamira asked.

"Ah, that's a long story", it said." Maybe some other time I will recount it. For now, all you need to know is that she was one of her three disciples at the time.

The reason I am giving you these is because you quest starts now. Your first lesson is entitled 'why people need jobs', and the goal is to make enough money in Diagon Alley to buy a house-elf, which we will need for the manor."

"You have got to be kidding me", said Tamira. "My family had to save up money for years in order to get one of those!"

"And how are we supposed to make money, anyway?" asked Richard. "There's no rush here, the place is practically empty except for the shopkeepers, who can probably do everything we can, only more so!"

"Who said anything about conventional methods?" The Hat asked. "This lesson is to introduce you to the endless opportunities that the Magical world presents in every corner, which usually people ignore completely. The books I gave you should be very helpful in that regard, and if you have any questions about magic I will be free to answer you. For the time being I will be at Madame Malkin's, who will hopefully return me to my original state."

As Tamira brought The Hat to the sartor's store, and smiled at the amazement that plastered itself across the Madame's face, she wondered if it was a good idea to accept the apprenticeship that The Hat had offered her. Sure, it knew a lot and was regarded as one of the most important relics of ancient Britain, but she wasn't sure that it knew exactly what it was doing. In fact, it had even said so to her at the school, but she had been so star-struck that she didn't really think about it. Despite the amount of time it had spent with them, The Hat wasn't really human. Maybe it didn't understand concepts like frustration, or it experienced them in a different way. It seemed nearly impossible to do the task required of them. They could be stuck on lesson one for a whole year.

Unless there _was_ something to get, in which case it could be over quickly. What was she missing?

Still musing, Tamira left the shop and opened her new spellbook. There was a lot in here, but she needed something that would make money. What would shopkeepers want?

No, that was the wrong direction. What was the right one? What did shopkeepers need? What did customers expect?

No, The Hat said something about hidden opportunities. There had to be something that everyone saw, but no-one observed.

She set off, in the search on new discoveries.

Author's note: JKR had enough stupid ideas to fill twelve baskets, but there are enough stories out there that give her the proper bashing that she deserves. One of these is having spells that "disappear" things. The"_Where do vanished objects go__?_ Into non-being, which is to say, everything" riddle is the stupidest riddle I've ever heard, even including the one with the answer "a bat with lesions". Stuff cannot disappear. So if it looks like it's vanished it's either hidden from view, or very small, or somewhere else.

And I desperately need ideas guys, I hardly know what I'm going to write in the next paragraph half the time!


	6. Chapter 5

Tamira went through the alley for the fourth time, casting "Specialis Revelio" on anything that seemed even remotely suspicious. The first time around she found dozens of spells, mostly just maintenance and cleaning spells, but there were a couple of hiding spells and one of the stone statues had a secret compartment of some sort. Of course, that was totally useless to her, since she didn't have the codeword for opening it, but at least it felt like discovery.

The second time around she poked at other things not directly in her line of sight, such as balconies and behind benches and up in trees. This had revealed very little that she did not already know, although there were a few points of interest to keep in mind, such as the frightening collection of curses on the locked doors of The Spiny Serpent, and the barrier charm in front of the Wizard's Workshop which would alert the owner if anything got "misplaced". Going into the little gaps between the buildings had earned her nothing but some strange stares and an old Wizard's Card, and not even a rare one at that.

The third and fourth time had revealed almost nothing. She vaguely wondered if The Hat was referring to something in the junk shop, as there were always rumors that the owner had some powerful artifacts hidden away somewhere among those piles of junk. Probably not, she decided. It was true that the shop in question would buy anything, but the chances that she could recognize any special magic powers that the owner could not were so small they were nugatory. It was probably the owner that set those rumors going anyway, since the "mysterious cluttered shop" theme was wearing thin after the advent of world-wide communication.

Muggles really did have it better, she decided. They could talk to anyone they wanted without being labeled by others, they didn't get looked down on if they worked with a group rather than alone, and they didn't have to be constantly involved in politics. Maybe it was simply because of the amount of people, but they didn't expect everyone to have a political view and strive towards it.

During the last century, when technology had progressed to such an extent that wizards were starting to feel threatened, the amount of innovation and inventions in the Magical world had increased tremendously. Every corner of magic had been scrutinized and explored, many times with amazing results. The general consensus was that very little could be improved by a single person, unless that person was really a genius. Of course, this didn't stop people inventing new things anyway. That was the strange thing. Every year another new concept was introduced and was almost immediately denied, and only after repeated proof would people accept it as true. The Wizarding world may have opened up slightly, but it was still very resentful of new ideas. That was probably the real 'lesson' The Hat was trying to teach.

Or maybe it was about how the economy was screwed? And it was. Oh, it was. The goblin revolution of 2076, when it turned out that not only were the coins of the wizarding world not made of the metal they should be, but also that they had no value _whatsoever_, had caused such a gigantic financial crash that the wizards were only too happy to grant the goblins a autonomic goblin settlement in Norway in return for stabilizing the market values.

The biggest question was not: "what defines the value of the sickle?" but rather: "what defines the value of work?" In other words, "what do wizards do all day?"

The truth was, when you got right down to it, that wizards didn't really need an economy. For a basic lifestyle, they could live their entire lives happy using one spell a month. But people don't work that way. If you told a muggle to disconnect himself from the world, he would not do so, and he would work hard his whole life in order to avoid it. A rich man could live happily his whole life as a middle-class man. The same thing applied for any normal person, they could live what lower classes considered "happy" their whole lives. But once people get suited to a certain style of living, to a specific level of accommodation and comfort, it's hard for them to live without it.

A wizard could, theoretically, live as a muggle in peace. But he would never be at peace with himself. Was that the lesson? That they didn't really need a house elf, but they were just so used to the comforts of Hogwarts that they couldn't bear to be without one? If so, The Hat was a very bad teacher. She could cook her own food. Just about.

There were too many possibilities. Of course, it was possible that The Hat had given the lesson so that they would try and figure out what it was about and thus "discover" these many lessons, but that way lay madness. It was best to focus on the task at hand and try to figure out what it was about later.

She sat down to think. 'There must be something that I'm missing', she thought. 'What's out of place? What shouldn't be here?' The statues that appeared here and there were the most obvious suspects, but she had already gone over them twice from every direction, and short of actually moving them there wasn't much to do. The fountain was a last resort – she was certain that it would be almost impossible to take the money at the bottom without someone noticing. She got up and went for another round, checking the areas between the shops again.

As she passed by one of the passages, she remembered something. There was an old stone well in the gap between Eeylops Owl Emporium and Harford's Theater, covered by a metal grate. She hadn't thought of it before, seeing as it seemed to fit in, but now it was obvious.

As she ran towards it, one thought was stuck in her head. 'Why would wizards need a well?'

* * *

><p>When Tamira reached the well, she cast a quick detection spell – it was always best to act cautiously with old objects of any sorts, especially entrances – and levitated the grate off of it. She climbed up on the side of the well and looked down. There was a set of metal bars leading down, forming a makeshift ladder. She tested one for strength with her foot. It seemed sturdy enough, so cast a "lumos" and tied her wand securely to her tie and descended gradually. She really hated those stupid ties, it was unbelievable that they forced everyone to wear them, but at least they came in handy in (admittedly rare) occasions such as these.<p>

After about half a minute, she reached the bottom of the well. It was clammy, but as she had expected, not actually wet. She illuminated the corridor with a "Sphaera Lux", a more advanced form of "Lumos" which allowed control over the placement of the light source, and continued down the long cavern. The walls were flat and clearly man-made, and the roof was sloped rather than level, which suggested that the corridor had been made to survive without maintenance. As she continued down the passage and turned a corner, she saw piles of bones on either side of the corridor, and quickly cast a shielding charm on herself. If anything was in here, it was best to be prepared.

As Tamira neared the piles, her worries diminished. The bones were small and reptilian for the most part, although some looked vaguely humanoid – gnomes, perhaps. Probably there had been an infestation and someone had come in to an angry swarm of creatures. What this definitely meant was that there was some sorcerous presence ahead, since magical creatures only gathered in strong magical fields.

At the end of the corridor, there was a raised rostrum with pillars on both sides, and on the wall behind it was an inscription in ancient runes. She groaned inwardly. It made sense to pass on a message to future generations in runes rather than in the spoke language, which would probably change in a few centuries or so, but that didn't make the current task of translating it any easier. After a few minutes of work, she stood back to look at the partial translation she had put together.

It read, "The mighty warrior goes to join his ancestors after a life of glory and valor". That was a common line, frequently put on epitaphs and commemorations, even when it was not deserved. "The power of light dies not, and (something like the symbol for "time" wrapped around a three-pointed star) to the next (Weapon-owner? Swordsmaster? Possessor of fighting…spirit? It was hard to tell). The Wand of Light awaits the foretold knower (that is, possessive of information). The Wand chooses the Wizard". She'd never heard of the Wand of Light before, but it was probably special, if this whole complex had been built just to accommodate it. But where was it? She redirected her light to the center of the room and searched it excitedly.

In the wall with the inscription, she spotted a small niche which she had ignored beforehand, since it paled in comparison to the majestic scripture adorning the wall. In it she could barely see two metal half-rings, with the open ends upwards. The holders of the wand, she thought, and quickly brought her light source to illuminate the small hollow, brimming with anticipation.

It was empty.

Well, that made sense. She could hardly be the first person to find this place, and the chances of her being the "foretold" one were trivial. For a start, she didn't even know what it was, so she could hardly be called the "knower".

She stepped off the rostrum, looking for anything in the room that might redeem this excursion from being a total waste of time. Her eyes went to the first two pillars, which had carved globes atop them, and she saw a series of names carved on each one. There were only half a dozen names, but half of them she recognized. Pariah Bones was a famous musician, playing entire orchestras at once with astounding precision and feeling. Tamira had no idea why her name would appear here. Xenophilius Lovegood was the establisher the most popular newspaper in Britain, who had achieved worldwide fame as the person who brought the English ministry back together after it had collapsed in the advent of a Dark Lord. His name had the now-famous Deathly Hallows insignia next to it, so probably in his search for the Elder Wand he had discovered the resting place of this so-called 'Wand of Light'. And at the top of the list, protruding rather than carved into the rock, was John Dee, one of the most famous British magicians of all time. She tentatively added her name to the list in curved, flourishing script, not wanting to appear inelegant to future explorers. After she was certain that there was nothing more to be found, she went back to the surface, extremely miffed. She could only hope that Richard had had better luck.

* * *

><p>Richard was sitting by the fountain in Diagon Alley, eating a sandwich and reading his new book. The Hat claimed that there was something in there that would help them with this ridiculous task. So far, the book had talked (literally, until he found the instructions on the first page) about how magical frequencies affected the spell and how wands focused and amplified the magical pulses, which was all very nice and well except it was <span>totally unhelpful<span>. He had tried going to Gringots, to try and claim the Dash family fortune as well, but apparently the bank didn't operate like that. They accepted anyone who had the proper key, and anyone else was more likely to gain access by breaking in than by convincing the goblins. At least his 'adventure' in the muggle population had yielded some results, he thought, as he bit into his muggle-made lunch – it was a good thing that magic shows were still popular enough to arouse instant skepticism. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tamira coming down the lane, and waved to her absently. She came closer and sat down.

"Any luck?" she asked, sounding extremely unhopeful.

"A bit. Here, this is for you", Richard said, handing her a plastic-wrapped sub.

She poked at the wrapping tentatively. "This is muggle food. Where and how did you get muggle food?"

"I was hungry, and I didn't have any food, so I put up a magic show on the street. All simple stuff, levitation, accio, disillusionment, stuff like that." He paused for a second. "They were definitely not impressed by lumos, though."

"You cast magic, in front of a crowd of muggles, in order to get _lunch_?"

He smiled at her. "Brilliant, isn't it? There are millions of opportunities, after all. And people still claim that Muggle Studies is a useless subject."

Tamira struggled with the wrapping for a while before resorting to a cutting charm. "Won't the Ministry be angry, though? They don't like having to deal with magic performed in front of muggles."

"Ah, but that's the best part!" Richard exclaimed. "Since I told them explicitly that it was a magic show, then I didn't lie to them, and also there's no way that they would really think it was magic! If I had denied it was magic, then it might have been magical in their eyes, but because I told them it was, then it isn't!"

"I doubt that's what The Hat was talking about."

Richard shrugged. "Who knows what it was talking about? I asked it if we really needed a house elf, and it told me that was irrelevant. It asked us to get a bloody house elf, for crying out loud! That's an epic all in itself! "The Queste for More Money", he should have called it. We need to explore new possibilities, and that's what I did. Since you're here with me, it doesn't look like you did any better."

There was silence for a few minutes, and then Tamira asked:"Have you heard of the Wand of Light?"

"Nope", answered Richard, not taking his eyes off the book. "You should ask Ollivander, he knows everything about wands. Where did you hear of it?"

"Well, it's kind of strange, actually," she began, and related the entire story.

"Huh", said Richard. "Well, that's interesting, don't you think?"

"More like 'annoying', actually. I was hoping to find, I don't know, something,"

"Well, I find it fascinating that there are tunnels hidden under Diagon Alley that have remained hidden from almost everyone. Thousands of people come here every day, you know?"

"But they're here to shop", she stated, "not to explore. They only deal with the open, ground floor area."

"Well, you say that you've searched the whole alley several times, but you're also restricting yourself."

Tamira paused mid-bite. "How, exactly?"

"You only searched the ground and below. But there's another direction." He pointed his finger to the sky. He turned to face her and saw her expression. "And don't look at me like that, I was just throwing ideas around."

Her face lit up. "No, that's a good idea! We should check the rooftops! Come on!"

Richard shrunk his book and stuck it in his pocket, and chased after the rapidly retreating figure that was Tamira. That girl has too much energy, he thought.

He followed her to behind one of the shops. He looked around. "What is it?" he asked.

"This is one of the things I discovered," said Tamira excitedly. "I thought it was going to be useless, but look!" She poked the wall twice with her wand, and a diagonal line of bricks started extending outwards from the wall, forming a makeshift staircase, leading up to the roof of the shop.

Richard ascended the stairs slowly, while Tamira skipped up them with unrestrained enthusiasm. 'Why bother?' Richard thought. 'There's probably nothing up there anyway. Who in his right mind would hide something on the roof?' Well, he reconsidered, many wizards were not in their right minds, so there may be something to it after all.

When he reached the top of the staircase, two floors up, he came to a tiled roof, surrounded by a short stone parapet. Tamira had already activated the next spell, and Richard watched as a ladder extended itself from a piece of the wall. It was hardly Tamira's fault, after all. This seemed to be the first breakthrough either of them had had all day. He cast a feather-fall charm on himself and climbed up the ladder, thinking what epithets would be appropriate to for anti-headwear profanity.

A few rooftops later, he arrived at a giant bell with a domed covering, half a dozen floors above the ground. He checked the bell; it had a dozen Sonorous charms placed on it, and its ringing would probably be heard throughout the entire city. It had the word FATE embossed on it in large letters, which was a bit pretentious of the makers. Tamira had finally relaxed and was leaning against the railing at the edge of the roof. For the first time since leaving the fountain, he stopped moving and leaned against the banister around the bell, admiring the view. It really was incredible, and certainly extremely symbolic. A tiny square of Magical occupation, serving and the biggest commercial center in London, maybe even the whole of England, with tiny shops crammed into every corner, with vast expanses of muggle territory surrounding it on all sides. It shouldn't be like this, he knew that. Wizards and witches should be free and unrestricted. But since Diagon Alley was the center of magical business, if you weren't there, you were ignored.

Maybe that was it! Maybe the real economic advantages were away from the center, far from the public eye! There was an entire _city_ to check out, rather than be stuck in this single street!

"Why do people _limit_ themselves so much?" he asked, half to Tamira and half to himself.

"If you are where you want to be, does that really count as limitation?"

He snorted. "Interesting bit of philosophizing, but ultimately screwed. I'm not talking about those who have seen all the possibilities and chosen, I'm talking about people who are so limited in their outlook they don't even know what they want, just what's around them."

She looked at him squarely. "You mean, everyone? People adapt themselves to their surroundings; it's their nature. If I have found where I want to be in the world, then while others may see that as limiting, for me it is freedom."

Tamira pushed herself off the railing and started walking back the way they had come. "I've solved it", she said. "We've been thinking about it the wrong way the entire time."

"Obviously. I've told myself that at least five times today, and changed my perception to think outside the box so many times I doubt that there's a bigger box left to think out of. "

"If you could stop being so cynical for a while, maybe you could learn something. I just uncovered a major problem in the Wizarding community, and I'm going deal with it just like any responsible adult would."

"Exploit it."

She flashed him a grin. "Obviously".

As Richard left the rooftop, he stuck a delayed Stentorian charm on the bell, set to play "jingle bells" in another hour. The bell itself would only register one single note, but the Sonorous charms on it would react to the Stentorian very nicely. It was, he decided, exactly what the Weasley brothers would have done. It was fun to exploit the system when you could, but at other times you had to resort to more mundane amusements, such the entire city shoving their hands on their ears as the bell of FATE played "jingle bells." Probably nobody else would get it, but he thought it was funny, and what better reason does anyone need to do anything?

* * *

><p>"I must say I am impressed", said the newly cleaned and refitted Hat, looking better than it had for centuries. "If I had eyes, they would no doubt be popping by now."<p>

Tamira sat smirking on a stool in Madame Malkin's while her new house elf, Pippin, scurried around the shop, tidying up all the miniscule minutiae that any normal human would simply ignore. Richard was still reading his book, pretending to ignore everyone, as she had noticed he often did. He had started paying slightly more attention to his surroundings than usual after the last two times he had tried to look aloof and she had sent a tripping hex at him. Watching him fall on the cobbles was funny; watching him fall into the fountain was _hilarious_.

"So", The Hat continued, "How did you do it? I could think of only five different ways to get a house-elf in a day, two of which are illegal."

"Well, house-elves set status by the size of the estate under their 'control', right? So I went into a shop and asked the elf there, Ginny or Pliny or whatever, if they had any family members that wanted a mansion to clean."

"Pippin is so happy to have found such great Masters!" the elf's tiny voice drifted in from the other room. "Pippin will always be grateful for cousin Finny for giving her this chance for a Noble House!"

"Pippin needs to learn to talk in first person", Richard muttered, and narrowly avoided a tripping hex.

Pippin appeared in front of Richard with a small _ting_. "Pippin will do her best to fulfill Master Richard's wishes!" she said earnestly, and Richard recoiled from the puppy-dog eyed look she gave him.

Tamira's smirk grew wider. "Since Master Richard knows best, I think – no, command you to go to him whenever you're unsure of something, Okay? And don't listen to him if he tells you not to. He's just shy."

"That was completely uncalled for!" cried Richard.

"Oh, you're so antisocial. Maybe you would like to retake this lesson on your own, hmm? And without using my answer?"

Richard, for once, was silent.

"That's what I thought. So now we go back to the house, yes? Now you can teach us some cool spells and stuff," She addressed The Hat.

"Not quite," it said. "We will go back, but only to show Pippin in to her new home. There's still quite a bit of daylight left, and we have a few places to go. But first of all, let's see what you've learned from your lesson. Why do wizards need jobs?"

"They have accustomed themselves to a magical lifestyle and need jobs to upkeep it?" said Richard.

"They want to keep their status and enjoy the things they like?" said Tamira.

"Those are both very good summaries, but they're not what I was looking for. Think of what you've learned today. It's much simpler than that."

Tamira and Richard sat thinking for a minute or so.

"They don't." said Richard.

"THAT is the correct answer," said The Hat. "I learned some interesting information today myself, and there are a few errands that require my attention. We will do a round of London today, as an introduction to what you will be learning. Tomorrow we will start lesson two. It is called: 'Why wizards need the ministry.'"


	7. Chapter 6

Sorry if there are any problems/mistakes etc, my Beta is in the army now. If you find anything, please tell me! Thank you!

* * *

><p>Stuart Minnow was an artificer by trade, and had managed to work his way up to the top of his profession by accepting any job, no matter how small. Nowadays, the smaller jobs, such as repairing timing charms that had gone out of sync, and re-applying cleaning and transfiguration perpetuation charms, were managed by his children. He had done the same when he was their age. He had worked with magical trunks, exploding clocks, rabid bunny slippers and even fixed the occasional wand. He wasn't able to do everything - the actual creation of complex magical items was beyond him, as was chain-linking causeeffect spells into complex decision trees. But he felt, quite justifiably, that any work concerning simple to mid-level spells was definitely within his abilities.

Therefore, when two Hogwarts students still in their school robes knocked on his door and asked him to apply a simple levitation spell on a rather large hat, he accepted immediately. He put the hat on his workbench, cleared it of all the junk that was constantly accumulating from who-knows-where, donned his magesight goggles and set to work.

What he found was completely beyond his expectations. There were several spacial expansion charms set on the brim of the hat, to "pull out rabbits", so to speak. They were complex manipulation charms, _much_ more advanced than the standard expansion charms What completely blew his mind, though, was that they didn't seem to have a source. No rune array, no magical core – they seemed to simply exist, independent of their surroundings.

Stuart applied a stronger filtering lens and peered closer. No, they were all connected, but the waves between them were for monitoring rather than controlling. But where was the source? Were they really all independent?

He put up the filtering lens and grabbed a monitoring ball, usually used for examining the contents of bags of holding, and noticed the two kids watching him attentively. Good. It was about time they left school and started getting a real education. He linked the monitoring ball to an illusion generator, opened up one of the spaces and carefully placed the ball inside. The illusion came out a bit fuzzy, so he took out the ball and applied a few changes. He knew how it worked very well – after all, he had created it. After a couple of adjustments later, he put the ball carefully back into the space and activated the ball.

The space was empty. No, it was stranger than that – the space was _exactly_ the size of the monitoring ball. That was…amazing. The area being controllable was rare enough, but it fitting the contents? That was not just extremely rare; that was _unheard of_. There must be something else going on.

There were two ways of doing this. One was finding it out by himself, which could take him days if not weeks. And seeing as he hadn't even seen a sign of a source yet, maybe even longer. The other way…

He turned to the boy and pulled up his goggles, looking him straight in the eye. He couldn't remember the boy's name, even though he had been told it not ten minutes ago, but that didn't matter. "You're not telling me something", he said to the boy matter-of-factly. "I can't do my work if you don't co-operate."

The boy glanced quickly at the girl and looked at him straightly. "Mister Minnow, this is the Hogwarts Sorting Hat."

Well. Well, well, well. That explained one thing. It wasn't a self-regulating space, it was being controlled by a quasi-sentience. Funny thing, though. It didn't look like the Sorting Hat he remembered. "Could you tell your hat to open up its spaces? It's hard to see anything like this."

"You can address me directly", said the hat, a mouth appearing on its side.

Maybe even full sentience, thought Stuart, as the area on the illusion generator expanded. Damn surprising, that was. As the size of the area grew from a box to a castle, Stuart gradually adjusted the illusion to a manageable size. The entire space was empty, as was expected, except for a small gold-ish spot at the far edge of the area. Stuart navigated the ball closer and focused the illusion on the spot. The makers of the hat knew what they were doing, for sure. Keeping the energy source of the space inside the space itself was high-level work it of itself. But connecting many spaces like that to a central control? And giving it sentience? That was the work of a _genius_.

Stuart carefully navigated the ball to the energy source, setting a couple of anchoring spells to make sure that it would remain in place. Now came the tricky part. Pocketing his wand, he used the monitoring ball's Protean copy as a focus, and channeled his magic through it. A brief burst of colors from the illusion assured him that the connection still held. Stuart cast the outline of a "Locomotor" and bound it to the source, etching a Perpetuating rune on one of the source's ports. He tested the outline, and seeing as it held, he activated it briefly.

Damn. All it did was move the source inside the space, what a waste. If only there was some way to connect the source to the outside world…

His thoughts were interrupted as the hat rose in the air and landed on his head. Surprised, he took it off and put it back on the workbench, and attempted to cast the Locomotor again manually. It failed.

Was it delayed action? No, he knew it couldn't be. But if so, what on earth…?

Well, the direct approach was the best approach. "How did you do that?" Stuart asked the hat, a little annoyed that he couldn't figure it out himself.

Stuart could have sworn that the hat _grinned_ at him. "All my spaces are connected, so once I have a spell in any port, I can reconstruct it in any other port." Shared spaces? No, shared ports! All sources were connected to a central space, which probably held the soul container, as well. That would explain the connecting waves! They were for relaying information from one source to another, independent of the main space, a backup relay! But to create such a thing…the amount of skill and knowledge required blew his mind.

The boy reached into his pouch and handed him a crystal, charged with magical energy. Stuart took it and inserted it into a small cylinder for measuring the power it contained. The text "10 G" appeared on the back of the cylinder, and he removed it from the assessor. 10 Galleons worth, by standard convention. Quite a lot for such a simple task. He thought about it. Actually, it was a pretty fair price, the only reason it had been so straightforward was because he had all the tools prepared from the start. Tools that he had constructed himself, for work between multiple spaces. He could hardly imagine trying to bind a spell to a source inside a space, which was maintained by that same source, without the monitoring ball.

He turned to the hat. "Can I ask for something else in exchange for my services?" he asked, his hands busy organizing the mess that was his workbench.

"If it within my power to give, and it is a fair price for your work," The hat answered him.

Stuart took a deep breath. "I have heard that you can read people's memories?"

"That is correct."

"And can you give people memories?"

"I can do that, as well."

"Then I would like to see how you were made."

He knew it, he _knew_ that thing was grinning at him. Constructs could be really weird sometimes.

The hat floated back to his head again, and attached itself firmly to his scalp. "You may want to sit down," it said, "because this is going to take a while."

* * *

><p>When Richard and Tamira arrived home, a small meal had already been set out for them. Tamira called Pippin and thanked her for the meal, and even Richard added in a good word. The meal was not as spectacular as the ones at Hogwarts, but in terms of quality, it definitely did not lose out. As they went to their respective bedrooms, Tamira couldn't help but think over the events of the day. Did she really want to be sleeping in this house, that had been abandoned for who-knows-how-long, and which had several disturbingly locked doors? Did she really want to be stuck with the Hogwarts Hat, who didn't know what it was doing apart for taking care of itself?<p>

She thoroughly cleaned all of the linens, even though there were tell-tale signs that Pippin had already been at them, and flopped down on her bed. Yes, she answered herself, she did. The school may have been interesting at times, but everyone knew that your real achievements at school did not take place in the classroom. And since it was so, why not work on self-improvement in an environment that actually suited it? She did miss her friends, though. That was one thing she did miss. Richard may be friendly, but he wasn't really a pal, it was impossible to just have a chat with him for no reason. And talking to The Hat was completely out of the question.

Tamira looked around her new room. Many things would need to be thrown out. Some of the things here were in various stages of deterioration; others were simply outdated to the point of uselessness. Pippin's cleaning only went so far, she hadn't actually thrown anything out, as far as Tamira could tell. Well, she could deal with it tomorrow. She idly wondered what The Hat did while everyone else slept before drifting off to sleep.

* * *

><p>The Hat carefully arranged its memories of the day, putting each one in its proper compartment and marking them accordingly. Constructs generally do not have a biological object to store memories in, and therefore it is very rare that they forget. When that object is carefully maintained with spells, memory loss is practically non-existent. However, a downside of this is that it makes finding a single memory among millions an extremely difficult task. Constructs do not have "creativity", when the brain synapses to a related memory or concept without prior instigation, and so they have to figure out their own ways to arrange their memories in semblance of human thought. Association connection was just one of many ways available to them, and it was the way that The Hat chose to conduct its mental structuring. It was extremely helpful in occasions such as the one today, when the artificer had asked to look at memories of its creation. It was quite…flattering, in a strange sort of way, even though it had not done the work itself. Compressing the memories of the entire process into little over an hour, though, was an achievement it could be proud of. The children got to mess around with the artificer's creations while he was engaged in the memory transfer, so all was well, really.<p>

The Hat, by its very nature, was used to making decisions that others would shy away from. It did not doubt its decision to take the children away from Hogwarts. But others, being human, would wonder about an animated object being the guardian of two near-adults, whether the law accepted it or not. A visit to the Ministry was in order, to prevent future complications – it had to establish itself as a sentient being, or the laws of possession would still apply to it. That single judicial alteration of status was more important that the whole schoolchildren excursion in attaining its freedom.

As the house slept with living residents for the first time in centuries, The Hat planned its course for tomorrow. Just one more day, and it would be truly free.

* * *

><p>The next morning, Tamira, Richard and The Hat left The House of Dash in the morning after a second, and more thorough, examination of the house. Pippin had managed to do a lot in the limited time she had been in the manor, and the state of the house literally improved by the hour. When they exited the manor, the windows were already washed and the metal polished, and the house shone with light like the Noble house it was, rather than the dismal vampire hideout it had seemed the previous morning. A list of instructions, including the setup of a proper garden, was set to keep Pippin busy for a couple of days. To Tamira, the joyful look on Pippins face as she scanned the list was discomfiting. No-one should seem so elated at the sight of a list of boring chores. She shrugged it off as "inherent house elf workaholicism".<p>

They portkeyed to London, directly outside the ministry's entrance, disguised a muggle phone cubicle. Richard keyed in "Magic" on the touchable screen, and after a brief talk with the receptionist, a small hole appeared in the screen containing two ID tags. Richard took one and pinned it on his robes, and handed the other to Tamira. It was difficult to know these days what was magic and what was technology. On a completely different note, he needed – they both needed – to get new robes. It was painfully obvious that they were Hogwarts students. He had even put his tie on out of habit.

As the floor of the cubicle descended, he wondered why the Ministry had opted to disguise the entrance, rather than conceal it the way that they did the Leaky Cauldron. Maybe this gave them more access control, or made it harder to attack, or detect? Who knew what went on in the pseudo-minds of Ministry officials?

They exited the cubicle and entered the lobby, the eighth floor of the Ministry presenting itself to them suddenly. With the Ministry being the largest employer in the Magical market and the lobby being the meeting-ground for interdepartmental relations, the Atrium was chock-full of people, going about with their various duties. Richard approached the reception desk, where a bored-looking receptionist was staring at a screen behind her counter.

"Hello, I need to register a new legal guardian for myself, and I was wondering where I should go?"

The receptionist didn't even look up. "Second floor, Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

"Thank you, I also need to register a magical artifact as sentient, is that there too?"

The receptionist flicked her hand at the screen and pulled her head up. She stared at him for a few seconds before asking: "You serious?"

The Hat drifted off of its semi-permanent resting place on Tamira's head and drifted to the receptionist's. "It likes you!" Richard heard her say, apologetically. "Stop that", he told The Hat, pulling it off of the receptionist's head and throwing it to Tamira, who put it back on.

"You're registering _that_ as sentient?" the receptionist asked, her voice half confusion and half sarcasm.

"You've been a great help, thank you very much!" Richard shouted behind him as he trailed off after Tamira, who had headed for the lifts. The receptionist shrugged inwardly and continued watching her movie. In her job, you saw crazy people all the time. Well, now it was someone else's problem, so she had done her job.

Once away from the reception desk, Richard turned his attention to The Hat.

"Okay, what did we learn?"

"We need to go to the second floor?" asked the Hat.

"Yeah, right. You don't just float to people's heads with no purpose. What did you get from there?"

"Just…background information. Who holds what jobs, how the ministry is composed, who has power over what. It's been a thousand years, and although I read a few minds once in a while, I need someone really in the know to be completely up-to-date."

"Do you know exactly who we're supposed to meet, then?"

"For the guardianship, yes. For the other thing, I have a good idea. I'm not sure anyone here is really ready for such a thing, it's usually the creators who register items as sentient."

"Well, let's make it memorable, then." Tamira said. "There's no reason not to make a bang!"

"There's plenty of reason not to," Richard interjected. "If the media gets hold of it, you never know what crazy stories they'll make of it."

"Which is why we're setting up the legal side now", countered Tamira. "The press has no power if we do everything by law."

"You're obviously thinking of 'The Quibbler' as 'The Media'. Not all media is as accurate as that. In fact, the more fantastic the story, the better it sells. By tomorrow we could be looking at headlines like 'Crazy hat abducts schoolchildren' or 'Crazy schoolchildren abduct hat'."

"All we need to do then is visit the media people and give them some ideas, then." Said The Hat.

"Not everything should be solved with mind magic!" Richard said, exasperated.

"Au contraire, my young disciple," The Hat said. "I plan on teaching you to use every advantage at your disposal. If you persist with these barbaric views, we shall hardly be able to get anywhere. Would you rather have me take the violent approach?

Richard stared. "Violent approach?You're a piece of cloth! And you don't know any offensive magic!"

"Says the person arguing with said piece of cloth," Tamira interjected.

Richard shot her a glare. "It always comes back to that, doesn't it?"

* * *

><p>Jillian Linus looked over the documents once more. There was nothing wrong with them, it was just…odd to be the one to officially recognize sentience in such a valuable artifact, with so little fuss. Most sentience claims came from other species, having been discovered somewhere across the world and trying to attain full rights in every country. Once in a while, every century or so, an inventor or crafter would come claiming that his creation had achieved sentience. They were nearly always wrong, but occasionally one was correct in his assumption, and the creation was granted full rights, like the magic mirror which was located in the department of mysteries.<p>

This situation, however, was unique. Never had a creation presented its own case, and with such alarming accuracy and knowledge of the inner workings of the law. It was damn unnerving.

She looked at the young woman sitting across the desk, the hat sitting neatly on her head. Jillian had already tried it on, and it had spoken to her, just like on her first day at Hogwarts. There was no doubt that it was the genuine article. There really was no reason to refuse.

She checked the document one last time and pressed her wand gently on the parchment. Her seal briefly flickered before embedding itself in the document, complete with her magical signature, wholly impossible to fake. The young woman rolled the parchment up and held it in the air, where it was promptly consumed by the hat in question. She gave a little bow, and with a "thank you very much!" she exited the room. The young man who had come with her, who had spent the entire meeting sitting in the corner reading a book, followed suit. Jillian looked at the second copy of the parchment in her hands, tracing the words "Hogwarts Sorting Hat" with her finger. This was a story worth telling. She swiveled her chair around and rose, grabbing a handful of floo powder from a nearby pot, said "The Quibbler!" and disappeared.

* * *

><p>George Parkinson scanned the list in front of him, occasionally reaching out to check a source. It was never necessary. Not a single source was off. Every book, every page was absolutely correct, which put this list above and beyond most Ministry lists. He checked the signature at the bottom. Dionysius Creevy, Hogwarts Headmaster. He smiled briefly to himself. No wonder the Ministry was having legal problems with the school. If their headmaster could put together such detailed and incontrovertible proof that these children were legally apprentices to a school artifact, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement only had a couple of people on par with him. Since most of those would be involved in international and ICW matters, where did that leave the rest of the department? Losing a judicial battle against the school, that's where.<p>

Well, there was hardly anything to do here, in any case. The rules were ironclad, the proof undeniable. All it really needed was his seal of approval. With an unnecessary but impressive flourish, George embedded his seal on the document granting the Hogwarts Hat guardianship of the two children in front of him. It was a fine piece of calligraphy, if he did say so himself. "Have a good day!" he shouted after their retreating figures. The girl turned and waved, the hat on her head bending a corner in salute. The boy just raised his fist, pinky and forefinger extended. George waved back and continued countersigning the forms on his desk. Work at the Ministry was a boring thing, and it was nice to have something interesting come along once in a while.

* * *

><p>"Why do we need to go to the Department of International Magical Cooperation?" asked Tamira, as she pushed the round button with the 5 on it and the lift began to move.<p>

"Have you already forgotten the attack on Hogwarts?" asked The Hat. "Those magics were definitely not English. It was mostly Oriental magic, with a smattering of international and Russian mixed in. We need to find out who attacked us, and how we can prevent further attacks. That is why we did not come yesterday, when they were still investigating"

"Erm, excuse me, but what does that have to do with us?" asked Richard. "We aren't students there anymore, and the Ministry and the school should be dealing with it, right? We have better things to do."

"Really?" asked The Hat. "Such as what? You have no idea what you want to do now. You have a final goal in mind, to be famous and a powerful wizard with breakthroughs in magic, but you have no idea how to achieve that, do you?"

"That's why I came with you! You have a lot of information, I just want to learn from you!"

"What you want is a mobile library with suggestions, not a mentor. You want to learn everything yourself. Not that I'm deriding that school of thought, but if that's what you wanted you should have just stayed at Hogwarts. In fact, as always, you are free to leave now, and see where that gets you. But if you decide to stay with me, then as your questmaster it is my duty to give you a proper quest. Knowing what you want in the end does not help you in accomplishing your goals, if they are not set goals."

"My goals are set!"

"No, they are not. Maybe we are using different interpretations of 'set'. To me, a 'set goal' is one where you know exactly what you must do in order to carry it out."

The lift stopped with a small *ding* and they left it, The Hat guiding them towards a small towards an office with a large, ebony door with the name Douglas Porter embossed on it in gold lettering. The door was open, and the man inside it seemed to be conversing with someone through the fireplace. After a few minutes, he finished his conversation and turned around to greet them. He was a middle-aged man, probably in his 80's, which was no age at all for a wizard. His hair showed flecks of black among the gray and his beard was cut to a goatee and mustache, unusual among older wizards, who usually had either a long, flowing beard or no facial hair at all. He rose from his chair.

"Douglas Porter, head of the International Magical Risks Department, at your service. How can I help you?"

"We need information regarding the attack on Hogwarts yesterday morning", said Richard. Douglas looked them both up and down, and turned to Tamira. "So this is the Sorting Hat, then?" He asked rhetorically. "Seems cleaner than last time I saw it. You caused one hell of a mess there, shutting down all the systems, did you know that?"

"That was the plan", The Hat answered.

Douglas moved back to his desk and started looking for something. "Well, you clearly made up for it in the fight before, with Marcus Chipper. Most of what you, I mean he used, was real high-level magic. There were even a couple of spells we didn't recognize!"

He pulled out a flat, rectangular piece of wood and poked at it a bit. A few images appeared on it, each immediately leaving from the wood and arranging itself on the wall behind him. "There were two people we recognized from the assault. The other one, or maybe two, were hidden behind a very advances disillusionment barrier. This person," he said, pointing at a picture of a snarling young person with armguards, "is Nan Gong Zui. Last time we heard of him, it was in India, and he was a rank 4 fighter. However, this guy," he pointed at the other picture, of an older man with a staff, which they both recognized as the intruder, "is Liang, we don't know his other name. He's a rank 5, and has been for a while now Real good fighter, probably the closest to rank 6 among them. They're both members of the Black Lotus Organization, a Chinese which basically rules the Chinese underworld these days. They go in groups of 3, all the same rank, which means that Nan Gong is also a rank 5. The fact that you managed to fight one is worthy of praise, and your headmaster beating Nan Gong knocked the socks off a couple of people here, I can tell you that."

"Sorry to interrupt," Tamira cut in, "But what does rank five mean?"

"Oh. Right. Sorry, I'm not really used to talking with civilians about these sorts of things." Douglas paused. "I'm not even sure I should be talking with you now."

"If the fact that I was the one to remove them from the school is not enough," said The Hat, "You can factor in that I'm also a questmaster, meaning you cannot deny me knowledge of threats to the realm."

"The realm?" asked Richard.

"It's an old law," The Hat answered.

"I didn't mean to deny you anything," said Douglas, "it's just regulations. Even I don't have the right to freely dispense knowledge given to me by Intelligence. Are you really a questmaster?"

"Can we get back to the ranks, please?" asked Tamira.

"Right, right. Generally, everyone in the Black Lotus has to go through one year of mandatory combat training, whether they're bookpushers, traffickers or anything else. After that, they're considered rank 1 and are grouped into teams of 3, every couple of years if they're not combat-oriented they get reevaluated and maybe retrained, but that's beside the point. Those that are combat-oriented go on missions according to their rank. The way you increase you rank is by defeating another team on your level. Of course there are rules and complications, but that's basically it."

"It sounds like a recipe for massive numbers," said Richard. "If you fight another team, someone's going to win and raise a rank, surely?"

"Maybe I didn't explain it properly. In order to raise your rank, you have to beat a team. By yourself." Richard shrugged. "That doesn't sound too hard. I know plenty of people who can beat 3 others at once."

Douglas smiled. "Oh, but it's more than that. Take three people who have gone through a year of combat training, at least. One of the rules is that they have to have been working together for a couple of months, so they have at least rudimentary teamwork and actual combat experience, not just training. Slightly harder, isn't it? At that's just for rank 2. For rank 3 you have to beat a team of three, each one of them a rank 2 himself."

"So a rank 3 person is equivalent to nine rank 1's?" Tamira asked.

"It's hard to say. It depends on the situation, what teamwork they have, etcetera. But even if we consider them to be only the sum of those they defeat, a rank 5 would be equivalent to 81 rank 1's. Of course, now you see why that's not true. If they were organized, maybe a group of a hundred could take him down. But as a regular group? A rank 5 would annihilate them. "

"…and a whole group of these attacked our school?"

"Now you understand why people are impressed at your headmaster, hmm? That's no mean feat, what he managed. We're still not sure what they were after, though. Judging by valuables and by importance, everything seems to lead to the headmaster's office, but it could be a kidnapping of Ravenclaw or Gryffindor, or maybe a retrieval of an artifact."

Douglas pushed the wooden tablet twice, and the pictures faded from the wall. "So you see, nobody really knows what they were doing there. But the point is that the wards couldn't put them off, and the staff had problems, so for the meantime we've given a couple of our best Aurors emergency portkeys to Hogwarts. And, well, that's about all we can do right now, really. Anything else you need to know?"

Tamira looked at Richard, who shrugged. "I don't think so".

"Thank you very much", Richard said, and they left his office, nearly bumping in to a tall, blonde man in a muggle suit who had clearly been waiting outside the door. With a look of complete disdain he swept past them and into the room, closing the door behind him with barely a whisper.

"Right," said Richard. "Are we finished here? Can we finally get out and buy some new clothes? These Hogwarts robes are awful for serious meetings. Everyone looks at you like you're a kid."

"That doesn't make a difference to me, if that makes you feel any better," said The Hat. "You all look equally inexperienced in my eyes."

* * *

><p>"So, what did we learn today?" The Hat asked, as they stood up at Madame Malkin's to be measured.<p>

"The Chinese are scary," said Tamira.

"The Ministry is a good place to keep all the officials in one place so we don't need to go looking around for them," said Richard.

"Well, Richard got the lesson of the day," said The Hat, "but Tamira actually hit a more important point. Now that we know who attacked the school, we can finally issue the Quest!"

Richard turned his head as fast as he could with a tape-measure down his spine. "Please tell me you're joking."

* * *

><p>Author's notes:<p>

I couldn't think of where to put this, since to all the characters in the story it would be obvious, but here's the deal with the crystals. After the great Goblin rebellion, and the massive economic breakdown that it had caused, the currency of the entire world had to be revised to something with actual value. The ICW juggled several possibilities, but eventually settled on magically charged crystals, a new commodity that had erupted at the beginning of the Golden Age of Magic. These crystals are widely used and ensure that people don't have to constantly renew spells, thus saving a lot of tedious bother. You know how often the charms on the Ministry's phone booth had to be renewed? Every single day. Wards are different, since they do not actively use energy until triggered, so they're all right. Since the value lies in the power itself and not in the crystals, counterfeiting is out, and even more so, people can literally make their own money. Well, vaguely. Just like theoretically people can charge batteries by hand-moved generators and solar power. It's possible, but the amount you produce is not worth talking about. The only place that really makes its own is the Auror Training Facility, but more on that later.


	8. Chapter 7

The multi-layered shield encompassing Richard turned red as a chunk of rock the size of his head hit him in the side of the stomach and sent him flying sideways and his whole body went stiff. He could only watch as Tamira closed the distance between then and tapped on his shield three times, dispelling the stun that the shields had activated and sending him sprawling on the floor.

Not that he was criticizing the shields that the Auror Training Facility provided – he would have died several times were it not for their protection – but the fact that they stunned him when they perceived critical damage, and required the touch of an opponent's wand to deactivate, made his loss just that much more humiliating.

Not that he needed help with his humiliation. He was doing a pretty good job of it himself, winning only one duel in seven. And against a girl who was not only a Hufflepuff, but also a year below him.

The shield withdrawn, he got up on his feet, straightening his robes. He stuck his hand out to Tamira. "Good fight". He actually meant it this time, too. There was nothing like repeated loss to make you appreciate your opponent.

At least he was faring better than he was a week ago. The Hat had decided, in a bout of astounding overestimation of their abilities, _under_estimation of the enemy and what must have been extreme insanity that their quest would be to fight against one of the most powerful underground organizations in the world. Were it not for his home-schooling in occlumency, Richard knew he would have had a fit on the spot. It was true that most quests contained a very high element of danger – stopping rampaging manticore clans and descending into the bowels of the earth to prevent volcanoes from erupting made for _much_ more interesting quests than discovering the cure to a terrible plague, regardless of the amount of lives saved or any other end result. But all quests he had heard of, difficult as they were, were at least achievable. There was a point in attempting them, since you knew that you had a chance.

Taking down the Black Lotus Organization did not fall in that category.

"It'll be a challenge", the Hat said. Sure, plunging down the side of a cliff with no wand and surviving was also a challenge. That didn't mean that there was any point in doing it. There was always evil in the world. It was part of the nature of humanity. Even if, by some insane freak fortune, the entire organization was to collapse the next day with all its members dead, within a week a dozen new ones would take its place.

Oh, he had no doubt that the collapse would be a good thing – it would lead to segmentation of power and would provide an opportunity for resistance for those that it, and ultimately would probably improve the lives of millions of people in one way or another. He merely questioned the usefulness of two students against the dark-arts-wielding, soul-dealing machine that was the BLO. The more he learned about the organization, the worse it seemed. It wasn't their fight! Damnit, they didn't even know what they were up against! When St. George had set out to defeat One-Tooth, he knew what he was dealing with – the patriarch of the southern dragon clan, whose fire melted rocks and metal, the terror of the land for centuries. But at least _he_ had a specific target and a specific goal, impossible as it may have been. But this? It reminded Richard of what The Hat said of his ambitions. There is an end goal in sight, but no paths to reach it.

He walked over to the lobby, where after a brief talk with the manager of the center, he joined Tamira and The Hat to portkey back to the House of Dash.

Anyway, the end result of it all was that The Hat decided that they needed dueling training, and so (of course) they wound up in the Auror Training Facility. With hundreds of different house-sized training arenas and body-covering shields, it was definitely the most advanced and serious training facility in the country. Richard had felt pretty good about the upcoming training – he wasn't the champion of the school's dueling club, but he was up there in the top five. He was pretty sure that he was better than Tamira in dueling. Even now, he felt that he may have been right. Not that it helped him much.

If underestimating Tamira was his first mistake, then this was his second and more significant one – Aurors didn't duel, they fought. Aurors did not train for dueling tournaments, with rules and timed matches. They trained for battle, where there were no rules except the ones you made yourself. Even after being told that, Richard thought he understood - you can use any spells you want, even the ones outlawed in dueling. You can hit people when they're down. Tamira, though, kept coming up with new ways to break the unspoken rules.

It started out with distractions by her patronus, moving up to illusions, traps, illusionary traps (casting a quicksand spell on half a corridor, then casting an illusion to make it look like the _other_ half was trapped), dropping walls, dropping ceilings, _hiding_ in the ceiling – she didn't respect a single unspoken rule of combat. Oh, he did get her once by transfiguring a wall into a panther and have it set off the traps to remove her from hiding, but in the next duel, she transfigured a wall to look like herself and controlled it remotely, using her patronus as her eyes. Richard was pretty sure there should be a law against that.

When they reached the house, Tamira went off with The Hat to the ballroom-turned-charms room, and Richard descended to dungeons.

Strangely enough, most of her tricks seemed to come for the "Weasley Twins" books. It was a series of kids' books, telling of crazy pranks that they pulled off, such as convincing an entire city that night was day and making crop circles in the Hanging Gardens. Richard seriously doubted that any of the stories were actually true, but that was largely irrelevant. They had the ideas, and that's what mattered. Richard wasn't ashamed to hop home and take every book of theirs he could find. His parents weren't thrilled to find out about the whole "apprenticeship" thing from The Quibbler rather than from him. He told them he would remember it the next time he got selected for a quest. He understood them, but he truly had no time on the first day of his apprenticeship, and The Quibbler worked damn fast.

As he reached his potions room, he checked the wards he had erected to ensure that they had not been tampered with. It was a little paranoid of him, sure, but if Tamira got a whiff of what he was doing here, she'd start doing the same. And, he mentally grimaced, she'd probably do it better. He was forced to admit that she was a better dueler than him; acknowledging her as more intelligent was more than his bruised ego was able to handle.

Reading up on duels, both fictional and non-fictional, had certainly given him an advantage, but it alone was not responsible from shifting his win ration from 1/15 to 1/5. The second component in the shift was the potions he had created. Potions had always been his favorite class, which was hardly surprising since it was one of the only five classes where anything actually got done, and Herbology was, frankly, boring as hell. Defense Against the Dark Arts was okay, but up until last week he didn't think he would have any use for it in real life.

Richard vehemently disagreed with the view that The Hat had promulgated in its speech to the school. Potions, along with Charms and Transfiguration, was one of the pillars of daily wizardry, or at least it should be. It offered a way to store magic without the power dissipating, simple to create, simple to carry and apply, with a range of effects that charms could hardly touch. Permanent charms were notoriously sessile and extremely difficult and time-consuming to create, whereas a potion with the same effect could be created halfway across the globe and applied here with no complications. Their main disadvantage was that they couldn't self activate, but in a fight, that hardly mattered at all.

In the last few fights, he'd been using accuracy and strength bolstering potions, as well as smoke and fire-raising potions. Poisons were unfortunately out, since the full-body shields could not defend against them and he might seriously hurt someone using them, and so he worked with what he could.

His current project was a potion to cover the entire floor with a slippery substance, more like ice than like oil, and a counterpotion that he would put on his shoes. He expected it would win him at least one fight, and would be helpful in many more to come. However, it was his main project that was of greater import.

The book The Hat had given him, "Practical applications of magical wave theory", had in it a recipe for a potion that would allow you to see the magic in different colors, depending on its wavelength. Richard would have killed for a set of goggles like the artificer had, but he knew that such a purchase was _way_ out of his budget. This seemed like the next best thing, even though its effects only lasted ten minutes or so. It wouldn't be as accurate as the magesight goggles, but in looking for traps all you needed was to spot the difference.

The problem was, ingredients cost money. And for the ingredients this potion called for, he would need a _lot_ of money, which left him back at square one a week ago. His current work was trying to find cheaper materials to replicate the effects of the more expensive ones.

The wizarding world, their Potions Professor Graytail had told them, was very narrow-minded in its idea of potion components. Powdered rubies and powdered jewel crabs were considered normal for potion-making, but powdered quartz was frowned upon, and few were the people that would even consider putting metals in their potions. And why? Well, ostensibly, the 'correct' materials were discovered through a process of trial and error. Nobody put metals in their potions because whoever did found out very quickly that it wasn't worth it.

However, the Professor said, that line of reasoning was flawed, for two main reasons: First of all, not all materials currently known were known back then, when the 'incorrect' materials were weeded out. And secondly, and more importantly, there were many new potions that did use unconventional ingredients, leading to the thought that maybe if you managed to create a potion with an unusual ingredient, you would keep it secret, as most people did with their creations.

Still, the "Golden age of Magic" did not revolutionize potions the way it had revolutionized charms. It fell to individuals to conduct experiments and make discoveries, which in a way was good because it meant that there was more room for improvement, but it was also quite annoying for those individuals since there was no real groundwork for 'scientific magic' in potions. Professor Graytail was such an individual, and his life's work was compiling lists of ingredients that were similar potion-wise. Last year, Richard had looked through the lists with much confusion until he gave up. The ingredients seemed to be too randomly connected. Celery seeds and pink tapeworms? Holly cut with a silver sickle and bat eyes? Fire crystals and cinnamon sticks? It made no sense. And yet, when he made potions with the substitutes listed, they worked. He had been very annoyed at that.

Now, with his book of magical wave theory and Graytail's book open on opposite sides of the table, everything fell into place. The reasons that the substitutes worked was because the ingredients altered the waves in a similar way. Every ingredient added another side to the potion, so that the final result came out being a gigantic, five-dimensional web of different strands of magic, all connected together by the magic the brewer put into the potion. There was no such thing as "superior ingredient"; there were only "superior combinations", since the most important part of the potion is the end result.

Using only substitutions from Graytail's lists, he had already managed to cut down the price of the potion to a quarter of its original price, but even so it came out to about 10 galleons for around 20 uses, which was a lot more than he could afford. He could definitely imagine people in research chugging double that amount every day, but Richard didn't have that kind of funding. The Hat had claimed that wizards didn't need jobs, but there was so much that only the wizarding world could offer him! Where else would he get the components he needed?

He looked at the list in front of him, and an idea began to form in his mind. Maybe The Hat was right. Did they really need Diagon Ally to get everything? Most of these could probably be found in the wild, after all. The Hat was looking for ideas of where to go and what to do; this would not only provide a nice outing and a chance to make some money, but would also provide a lot of ingredients, not only for this potion but for many future projects. And since Grindylow scales and Redcap caps were also on the list, there would be a chance to practice some fighting, as well. It's not like it called for selkie skin or phoenix talons. All the ingredients he needed were available, if not all readily so. At the moment, what he needed was not copious amounts of a specific ingredient as potion-makers usually did, but a sampling of many different ones. He had sent a letter to professor Graytail, asking how he had discovered the similar ingredients – the range was too diverse for it to be by trial and error. Once he had an answer, he would be able to organize the lists by association, maybe even expand them a bit. But all that could wait. Right now, he had a field trip to organize.

Tamira Baum shot another stunning charm at a Redcap, and as it froze temporarily, she sent a powerful sleep spell at it and it fell to the ground. She bound it with a full body bind, just in case, and reached out and pulled on its trademark red hat, and turned away as the body dried up quickly, leaving nothing but a dried-out husk. She marked it with a halo of red light for reference, since the swamp that The Hat had taken them to seemed to have no distinguishing features anywhere. She wouldn't be surprised if the Redcaps themselves got lost here. Richard had some problems killing the little demons, seeing as they were humanoid. For such a smart guy he could be really stupid sometimes. Tamira would be hard-pressed to hurt a garden gnome, but she felt that killing redcaps was nothing but a virtue. They literally lived to kill, and killed to live. These _things_ weren't goblins or house-elves, or even unicorns. They had the same intelligence as ants or bees. They were stupider than dogs. The basis of self-awareness that was abstract thinking and actions beyond instinct was missing from them. All that sat in their tiny brains was self-preservation, which for them was murdering other creatures. And yet, because they were vaguely humanoid and bipedal, people treated them like they were more. Like they were human. Whereas intelligent creatures, like dragons and hippocampi, were hunted down like animals. Stupid shapists.

Well, if Richard didn't want to kill the annoying pests, then she would. Either the caps would make a good bargaining chip with him, or she could sell them at Diagon Ally – despite The Hat's preaching, there _were_ things that you could only get with wizard money, even if they weren't necessities. Just because something isn't necessary doesn't mean it won't make things easier. She rethought that last sentence in her head, but stopped halfway as a Redcap jumped out of a bush and attempted to stab her in the leg. There would be time to reorganize her thoughts after dealing with the immediate problem. The faster she dealt with them, the less time Richard would have to wise up, and the better leverage the caps would be.

Richard descended to his dungeon – he had no problem calling it 'his' now – and emptied the contents of his bag of holding onto the table. Looking over the day's inventory, he noticed that although he hadn't gotten all (or indeed most) of the ingredients he had wanted to, the swamp had yielded many unexpected results. He headed upstairs – instead of finding ingredients to fit his potions, he would try to find potions he could make with his current inventory, but for that he needed advice, and more importantly, information. And it would be ridiculous not to utilize the most knowledgeable dispenser of both that he knew; after all, that was the reason he was here.

As he entered the ballroom, he noticed the complete makeover the place had gotten, from the thick slabs of rock covering the marble pictures set in the floor to the wood and metal training dummies, identical to the ones used in charms class. Tamira was so absorbed in assaulting one of them with bursts of electricity that Richard managed the levitate The Hat halfway across the room before she noticed it was missing.

"You know, you could have just asked", she said, trying to sound hurt but not quite managing.

"And miss the priceless expression of shock and annoyance on your face?" Richard asked, setting The Hat carefully on his head.

"I guess I should pity you," she said jokingly. "You have to resort to such tactics, to catch me by surprise when I'm unprepared. Whereas I see that expression on you every other duel, when you're completely aware of your upcoming loss."

"Oh, ha" said Richard. He knew that she was joking, that she didn't really mean it, but it still got to him. It didn't help that she was completely right. "Well, it's my turn to wear the teacher. See you later." He gave her a quick salute, and headed downstairs.

"She's a lot more talented than you, you know" The Hat told him.

"Only in certain areas, which make her a better fighter. It's always the new ideas that turn the tide of battle, and in that I have just a good a chance as her."

The Hat shifted on his head. "Possibly. But once you use an idea once, it's not new anymore, is it?"

"Then I'll have to keep coming up with new ideas. It can't be that difficult. There have been thousands of dueling wizards in history, and if each one of them only came up with one good idea in his entire life, that's already enough to beat her for a few years."

"It would be, if you knew their ideas. But you don't, do you?"

"Why do you think I keep you around?"

"I'm not going to tell you what you want to know, only where to find it."

"And if I can't find it anywhere? Such as, say, the founders' magic?"

"Ha! Do you really think you can handle that level of complexity? When we get to magic that advanced, we'll talk about it."

Richard stepped into the room and waved his hand over the table. "This is the stuff. Where can I find recipes for potions with these ingredients?"

"Hm. Well, you do have a very limited repertoire, don't you? Despite the advanced potions work you've done, you have only made potions inside the Hogwarts curriculum. You need a wider view of the available options more than you need a specific direction. I would advise you to go to Flourish and Blotts, and buy half a dozen books or so." Richard felt The Hat swivel on his head. "This is a very…empty place, is it not? It looks more like a storage area than a potions laboratory. You only have three cauldrons, and hardly any books. You're still stuck in your school mentality. You don't need to know every potion perfectly, make each one only once and in a small batch. The larger the variety of your experience, the better you will understand how potions work and what they can do."

Richard let out his breath. "So that's your advice? Go out and buy stuff? Why does it always come back to that?"

"Knowledge is power. And you can't expect people to give away power for free."

But I don't have any money, thought Richard, thanks to your "confiscation". And I'm not going to try entering the economy now, not with the dueling going so badly. I need all the time I can get.

But The Hat was actually wrong, he thought to himself. There _were_ people who would give you information for free. He'd already taken every book he had at home that might be useful, but the truth was that the amount of information in his house simple wasn't enough.

Tomorrow, It was time to go relative-hopping.

Several exhausting hours of 'polite conversation' and intensive cleaning later revealed a veritable treasure-trove of knowledge hidden throughout the Flare estates. The many useless and boring social gatherings Richard was forced to attend finally found their use as he Flooed through various relatives, many of which greeted him enthusiastically and were amazed to have any visitors at all, especially of such young age. Of course, there were those that disliked being held to their word, and felt that a muttered "if there's anything I can do for you, my boy" half a dozen years ago had no hold on the present. All that got them is that Richard didn't write their names in their books, figuring that if they felt they couldn't remember their own relatives then a few missing books wouldn't bother them.

The sheer amount of information was a bit offputting, though. There was simply too much. He had set out to find a few ideas for potions, perhaps find a spell for shielding against electricity, and had turned out an entire library. The space was hardly a problem, given the size of the House of Dash, but he simply didn't know where to start. Luckily, many of his relatives gave away more than just physical possessions. Each great-uncle or second cousin contributing an idea or two had lead to a rather long program, which The Hat had helped sort out into a more orderly plan. For now, speed and reflex-enhancing potions were the main goal, although there were some other, very interesting possibilities – invisibility and seeing through objects were far beyond him, but potions to transform rock into animals, controlled by the maker? To turn air into water? To break shields and wards? All of these were viable possibilities.

Richard was already considering clearing up the bleak garden and planting some choice ingredients. Herbology was an incredibly dull subject, but he wasn't planning to plant any strange or unusual plants, and so watering them once in a while should hopefully be all the hassle that he had to endure to establish a proper garden.

Oh, yes. The time that potions had taken their place as a major force in dueling was past and gone, but there was no reason not to bring it back. After all, the limits of your work were the limits o f your imagination, and judging by the amount of books he had garnered, he would have no shortage of that.

Tamira was feeling…strange. She wasn't so sure what she should be doing, now that Richard had taken The Hat. She didn't have some grand plan, like Richard did. She was good at what she did, as long as she had a specific goal to work towards. Richard thought he had problems, that he didn't know what he was working towards in the present. Tamira had no idea what she was working towards in the future. In general, her life seemed to have been set, up until the end of school, when she would choose one of the jobs she was offered and be good at it. It was all planned, all worked out.

And then the school was attacked, and everything collapsed.

She wasn't really sure what she was supposed to be doing here. She wasn't sure what she _could_ be doing here. All she knew was that every day, there was dueling with Richard, and that she needed- and managed, mostly – to stay ahead of him.

The truth was, she thought, that she was not disciple material. Every great witch or wizard always had some inspiration, some reason to keep improving. It didn't matter whether it was for revenge or to further knowledge, or even just because they were bored or wanted to show off. But, well, if she was told that she could be anything in the world, she would probably choose to be herself. She couldn't exactly say she was happy with her life, but she was content, and couldn't really imagine anything that would really make her happy.

And yet The Hat chose her. It had looked into her mind, seen the dullness and apathy hidden away under the surface, and taken her as a student. Somehow, it felt that she would make a good apprentice.

Tamira had _liked_ school. You always knew what you needed to do, when assignments were to be given in, exactly what material needed to be studied. Everything was clear-cut. But here, the only thing that was certain was that she needed to win. 'You can do whatever you want, as long as you win'. Gee, thanks. And how am I supposed to know what I want? What if I don't want anything? Finding your own path was great and all, but what I you didn't know where you were headed?

Maybe this kind of arrangement suited Richard, but she couldn't handle it. She had to talk to someone. Preferably a lot of someones. Her parents wouldn't really understand, they were the kind of people that had their own dreams and hopes.

Nope, there was only one place that people would really understand her. She was going back to Hogwarts.

Author's note: Hufflepuffs are not stupid. Loyalty does not mean blind obedience.


End file.
